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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774660">Stray</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb'>magnificentbirb</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Angels &amp; Demons, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Blood and Violence, Human!Wooyoung, Hurt/Comfort, Jongho and Yeosang Make Brief Appearances, M/M, Minor Animal Injury, demon!San</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:56:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wooyoung brings home an injured kitten and ends up with a demon in his living room.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi San/Jung Wooyoung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>721</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Kitten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>why yes i am starting another chaptered fic, please don't look at me.</p><p>inspired pretty much exclusively by <a href="https://twitter.com/fightmehyuk">@fightmehyuk</a> recommending this au for me back in july: "the i rescued a stray animal on a rainy day and took care of it but the next morning there is a strange, eldritch creature in my living room that thinks it's indebted to me now and vows to protect me forever trope"</p><p>my brain read that, said woosan, and here we are~</p><p>more characters and tags will be added as the story progresses!</p><p>enjoy~!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wooyoung might have missed the tiny creature entirely if not for the snow.</p><p>He’s on his way home from class, shoulders hunched beneath a puffy jacket, a woolen hat pulled down over his ears and his cell phone held close to his face by a miserable mittened hand, rapidly turning numb despite the layers of leather and fleece. </p><p>“Hyung, it’s <em> freezing </em> out, just order delivery,” Wooyoung whines into the phone. “I love you, but I’m not bringing you chicken. I’m going home.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound like love to me,” Hongjoong says.</p><p>Wooyoung sighs. “Okay, what if I order the chicken to be delivered to your apartment, would that satisfy you?”</p><p>“That would be fantastic, actually,” Hongjoong says. “Since you owe me for that time I bought you beer, and the time I bought you ice cream, and that other time, when I bought you steak—”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, chicken it is.” Wooyoung lets out a gusting sigh, his breath swirling in the frigid air, and that’s when he notices the blood.</p><p>Wooyoung stops dead on the sidewalk, staring down at the dark little drops sprinkled across the newly fallen snow. The street is just barely lit by a few dim streetlamps, but it’s enough for Wooyoung to guess at what the spatters are, and his heart starts to pound.</p><p>“Uh… hyung, can you hold on for a sec?” Wooyoung says into the phone, not taking his eyes off the droplets of blood. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” The shift in Hongjoong’s voice is immediate; as much as they joke around, Wooyoung knows that if Hongjoong thought Wooyoung was in any kind of real danger, he’d leap from his couch and come to Wooyoung’s aid in a heartbeat, freezing temperatures be damned.</p><p>“Nothing yet, I just…” Wooyoung starts walking, following the little trail of blood to where it disappears down a small side street. The shops on this street are mostly closed this late at night, and about half a block down is a small residential park. Wooyoung’s pulse beats loud in his ears; he really hopes this doesn’t turn out to be a terrible idea.</p><p>“Wooyoung, what’s going on? Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m just, uh. Looking for something.” Wooyoung winces slightly at the lie; the trail of blood is getting thicker now, some of it still shining in the dim light. It seems to be leading towards the park.</p><p>“Looking for what, exactly? Did you drop your keys, or did you suddenly come upon a midnight scavenger hunt?”</p><p>“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” Wooyoung says, and then he freezes, his breath stuttering, a puff in the freezing night air. </p><p>At the edge of the park, just outside of the wrought iron fence, lies a small, dark shape, partially covered by snow.</p><p>“Oh no,” Wooyoung breathes, an automatic reaction, and before he even realizes he’s moved, he’s on his knees in the snow beside the dark little bundle, reaching out with his free hand to gently brush some of the snow from its fur, revealing a tiny black kitten, curled into a ball and barely moving. </p><p>“Wooyoung?” Hongjoong sounds alarmed again, his voice tinny over the phone. “What happened, are you okay?”</p><p>Wooyoung’s bites the tip of the mitten on his left hand and yanks it off, letting it drop into his lap, then he touches gentle fingers to the kitten’s head, right between its ears. To his relief, the kitten chirps softly, ears twitching and whiskers scrunching. Wooyoung sighs in relief.</p><p>“I’m fine, sorry,” he tells Hongjoong. “I just… I found a kitten near the park, and I think it’s hurt.” He gingerly trails his fingers down the kitten’s back, searching for wounds while trying not to inadvertently hurt it. He can feel the poor thing shaking, and his heart breaks. “Hey, is Seonghwa-hyung there by any chance?” he asks, keeping his eyes locked on the tiny, trembling creature.</p><p>“He just got out of the shower,” Hongjoong says.</p><p>“I could use his veterinary expertise,” Wooyoung says. “Can you please put him on?”</p><p>“One sec.” There’s a pause, and the next time Hongjoong speaks, his voice echoes slightly; he switched to speaker phone. “Seonghwa, can you come here please? Wooyoung needs you.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s bare fingers are starting to go a bit numb, but he keeps gently petting the kitten, figuring that contact can’t really hurt, and at least this way the kitten will know that it’s not alone, right? He traces a finger down the kitten’s back, and then down its side, and then down its right forearm, and flinches back when the kitten finally lets out a low cry, its eyes snapping open, baring tiny teeth in a little hiss.</p><p>Wooyoung stares at it wide-eyed, holding his bare hand close to his chest. There’s blood on his fingers, rapidly cooling on his skin, which means he finally found where it’s injured, but that’s not why his heart rate has skyrocketed.</p><p>No, for a second there, he could’ve sworn the kitten’s eyes glowed silver.</p><p>“Wooyoung?” Seonghwa’s voice startles Wooyoung out of his momentary shock, and Wooyoung brings his temporarily forgotten phone back up to his face.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, a bit breathless, “so how should I take care of a tiny injured hypothermic kitten?”</p><p>“Oh, poor thing,” Seonghwa says, and for a strange moment, Wooyoung thinks he’s talking about him, but then Seonghwa asks, “Where is it injured?”</p><p>“On its front leg,” Wooyoung says. He eyes the kitten warily, but it just stares up at him with doleful gray eyes; a bit of an unusual color for a black cat, sure, but definitely not the bright glowing silver that Wooyoung thought he saw before. Tentatively, Wooyoung offers his fingers to the kitten, letting it sniff him, its tiny nose booping against his knuckles, and only when it seems satisfied with that does he try to pet it again, running gentle fingers over its forehead and behind its ear, scratching lightly. The cat presses gently up into his fingers, making Wooyoung smile. “And I think that’s it? But it’s hard to tell. It’s dark out, and the cat has black fur.”</p><p>“Hm,” Seonghwa says. “Do you think you can pick it up without exacerbating its injury? You’ll need to get the cat inside to properly warm it up.”</p><p>“Yeah, I… I think so.” Wooyoung brushes some more of the snow from the kitten’s fur, then starts unwrapping his scarf. “Okay, I’m gonna swaddle it in my scarf and get it back to my place for now. I know it’s late, but would you be able to meet me there, please? I want to make sure that it’s not too badly hurt, and I’m not really the best judge of that.”</p><p>“I can be there in about fifteen minutes, if that works?”</p><p>“That’ll be perfect, you’re a life-saver, hyung,” Wooyoung says.</p><p>“It’s not a problem. Just keep the kitten safe and warm until I get there. Warm blankets, heating pads, anything you’ve got. But nothing too hot too fast—you don’t want it to get burned, okay?”</p><p>“Okay. Thanks, hyung, see you soon.”</p><p>Wooyoung hangs up and shoves his phone deep into his coat pocket. He then tugs his left mitten back on and, scarf at the ready, faces the trembling little kitten.</p><p>“All right,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I’m gonna try to get you home so we can warm you up, okay? I’ll do my best not to hurt you when I pick you up, but I can’t make any promises, because I don’t know where you’re hurt. I just need you to trust me, and please don't bite. Okay?”</p><p>The kitten shivers at him, its eyes already starting to blink closed again, which can’t be a good sign, so Wooyoung lets out a determined breath.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, and then he carefully lays his scarf over the tiny kitten and scoops it up. The kitten lets out a little mewl as soon as Wooyoung lifts it, and he whispers soft nonsense apologies as he carefully bundles his scarf around it, trying not to jostle its injured leg too badly. Soon enough he has a tiny kitten-scarf burrito in his arms, and he cradles it tightly to his chest as he hurries down the street, barely even thinking when he leans down to press a little kiss to the kitten’s soft head, right between its ears.</p><p>“Come on,” he whispers, his chest tight; the kitten feels even smaller in his arms, barely weighing anything, all bundled up in red wool. “Let’s get you home.”</p><p>*</p><p>Seonghwa meets Wooyoung outside the front door of Wooyoung’s apartment, a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder.</p><p>“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said tiny,” Seonghwa says, already tugging off his hat and scarf. His hair is still a bit damp from the shower (and a little frozen at the ends) and his nose is red with cold, but his attention is entirely on the small bundle in Wooyoung’s arms. “Here, let me,” he says, taking the kitten as Wooyoung fumbles to unlock his front door.</p><p>“You said you need blankets, right?” Wooyoung hurries inside, slamming the lights on and tossing his keys into the bowl. </p><p>“Yes, please.” Seonghwa sets the bundle of scarf and kitten down on Wooyoung’s kitchen counter, and by the time Wooyoung returns to the kitchen with an armful of blankets, Seonghwa has freed the kitten from its scarf burrito and is letting the shivering little kitten sniff his knuckles, a tiny black nose scrunching as it bumps against Seonghwa’s fingers.</p><p>“Can you please pop those in the dryer for a few minutes?” Seonghwa asks, glancing at Wooyoung’s armload of blankets. “I’m going to see where this little one is hurt.”</p><p>Wooyoung scurries to do just that, and then returns to the kitchen, watching anxiously as Seonghwa coos over the little kitten, running gentle fingers over its head, down its back, under its belly, and then down each leg, saving the right foreleg—the one Wooyoung noticed was bleeding—for last. The kitten lets out a little cry when Seonghwa reaches that leg, twitching away from Seonghwa’s fingers.</p><p>“Oh, baby, I know, I’m sorry,” Seonghwa croons to the little kitten, rubbing just behind the kitten’s ears, which seems to mollify it a bit. “Let’s get that cleaned up, shall we?”</p><p>“Is it just that one cut, you think?” Wooyong asks, watching as Seonghwa digs in his duffel bag, coming out with a bottle of antiseptic solution, a few cotton balls, and a small roll of gauze.</p><p>“Seems like it.” Seonghwa wets one of the cotton balls with the antiseptic. “Nothing else feels tender, and he really only seems to be sensitive on that front leg. I could use some extra hands, once those blankets are warm—can you grab them?”</p><p>“Oh right.” Wooyoung hurries to the dryer, pulls out the fuzziest blanket, which is now pleasantly warm, and returns to the kitchen, holding it out with both hands. </p><p>Seonghwa touches the blanket, presumably to test its temperature. </p><p>“Perfect,” he says. “Can you swaddle him in that, please? While keeping that front leg out?”</p><p>“Come here, buddy,” Wooyoung says, scooping the kitten gently into his blanketed hands; it mews at him, sounding a bit betrayed. Wooyoung tries to be as gentle as possible as he wraps the warm blanket around the still shivering little kitten. “Wait, ‘him’?” Wooyoung says, just now realizing what Seonghwa said. “He’s a him?”</p><p>“I suppose I shouldn’t just assume gender for a cat, but I’m taking the veterinary approach for now,” Seonghwa says. He takes hold of the kitten’s right forepaw, firm enough that the kitten isn’t able to tug his paw out of Seonghwa’s grip, which makes the kitten—now firmly swaddled in Wooyoung’s arms—cry out, a tiny sound that goes straight to Wooyoung’s heart.</p><p>“Is this gonna hurt him?” Wooyoung asks, holding the kitten a little tighter as Seonghwa gets the cotton ball ready.</p><p>“It’ll sting a little,” Seonghwa says, “but it shouldn’t be too bad. We just need to clean out the wound as much as we can before we bandage it up so he doesn’t get an infection.” He crouches slightly, the better to meet the kitten’s wide gray eyes. “We don’t want that, do we?” he coos to the kitten, and then he pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly. </p><p>“What, what’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks, craning his neck to see what Seonghwa is looking at.</p><p>“His pupils are pretty dilated.” Seonghwa gently holds the kitten’s head still with one hand, peering into the kitten’s eyes. “I wonder if he has a concussion, or ate something he shouldn’t have…” </p><p>“What?” Wooyoung’s voice cracks slightly; he tightens his hold on the kitten, like that will protect him from however he got hurt. “What does that mean? What do we do?”</p><p>“Just keep an eye on him for now,” Seonghwa says. “I didn’t feel any kind of head wound, but if he doesn’t eat or starts to have trouble walking, call me right away and we can get him checked out. Let’s just get this cut cleaned first.” He glances up at Wooyoung. “You have him?”</p><p>Wooyoung nods, lowering his head to press a soft little kiss to the kitten’s head. </p><p>Seonghwa dabs the cotton ball gently along the gash on the kitten’s arm. The kitten cries out as soon as the cotton touches his fur, struggling against his swaddle, but Wooyoung holds him tightly, shushing him, and Seonghwa doesn’t let go of his paw. The cotton ball comes away red, but not terribly so; the wound must not be bleeding as much anymore, which makes Wooyoung feel a bit better.</p><p>A few more dabs of antiseptic, and then Seonghwa wraps the kitten’s tiny leg in gauze, tapes it so it’s secure, and then he scratches his fingernails gently behind the kitten’s ears.</p><p>“All done!” he says, his voice about three octaves higher than Wooyoung is used to, but Wooyoung is grateful for his help, so he just files that away for future teasing.</p><p>“Thanks, hyung,” Wooyoung says, still holding the trembling, bundled little kitten. He feels a little shaky himself; he’s never heard a kitten in pain before, and he doesn’t like it. “Is there anything else I should know for taking care of him? I don’t even—” </p><p>“I brought you some essentials,” Seonghwa says with a smile. He turns back to his duffel bag and pulls out a small bag of food, a couple of dishes, and what looks like a travel-sized litterbox, complete with a sealed ziploc bag of litter inside.</p><p>“Oh my god, you’re my hero,” Wooyoung says, wide-eyed. “I’m ordering you and Hongjoong-hyung so much chicken tonight.”</p><p>“Well, that’ll appease Hongjoong, at least,” Seonghwa says. “Do you need anything else? Do you want me to stay?”</p><p>Wooyoung glances down at the kitten in his arms, who looks a little miffed about the bandage on his leg, but doesn’t seem to be shivering as much anymore. </p><p>“I think we’ll be okay,” Wooyoung says, rubbing a thumb against the kitten’s cheek; the kitten scrunches his face a little. “I can keep him here for the weekend, and I’ll keep an eye out for any lack of appetite or balance problems. And then maybe we can see if anyone in the neighborhood is missing a kitten.”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan.” Seonghwa zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder again. “I’m gonna head out, then. It’s technically still date night.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’ll add beer to the chicken,” Wooyoung says, and Seonghwa laughs.</p><p>“I appreciate it,” he says. He bundles into his scarf and tugs his hat over his still-a-bit-damp hair, and then Wooyoung walks him to the door, his arms still full of blanket and kitten.</p><p>“Are you going to name him while you have him?” Seonghwa asks, tickling the kitten beneath the chin, which the kitten seems to enjoy, judging by the way his eyes slip closed. </p><p>“I’m not sure yet,” Wooyoung says. “Might be good not to get too attached, you know?”</p><p>“Mm. Good luck with that,” Seonghwa says with a sly smile, and then he leaves, waving over his shoulder. </p><p>Wooyoung closes and locks the door behind him, and then it’s just him and the kitten in his apartment. He looks down at the little kitten, just a tiny dark head peeping out of a blanket swaddle. The kitten is purring, a low rumble that makes Wooyoung smile.</p><p>“Well,” he says, “I suppose I have some chicken to order, don’t I?”</p><p>*</p><p>The kitten ends up napping in a cozy blanket pile on Wooyoung’s couch while Wooyoung goes about his evening as usual. He sends a generous helping of fried chicken over to Hongjoong’s apartment, prepares a bowl of instant ramen for himself, changes into a warm hoodie and some sweats, glances at his coursework and decides that it’s a problem for Sunday Wooyoung, and throughout it all keeps tiptoeing periodically over to the couch to make sure the kitten is comfortable and sleeping and still as cute as he was the last time Wooyoung checked on him.</p><p>Wooyoung eventually settles on the couch to watch some mindless TV, his phone in hand. He lowers himself gingerly onto the middle couch cushion, careful not to disturb the sleeping kitten curled in the corner of the couch, and loses himself for a bit scrolling on SNS and watching bad reality television. He’s so settled that he almost jumps out of his skin when he feels a light pressure on his thigh, but luckily his surprise doesn’t seem to upset the little kitten, who continues to crawl up onto his thigh, tiny claws pricking through the fabric of his sweatpants, and finally curls into a warm little ball in Wooyoung’s lap, snuggled against Wooyoung’s abdomen.</p><p>Wooyoung stares at the kitten, surprised and inordinately pleased.</p><p>“You sure you wanna sleep there?” Wooyoung says quietly, rubbing gentle fingers over the soft fur on top of the kitten’s head. “You barely know me.”</p><p>The kitten just purrs loudly as a response, eyes closed and front paws flexing, flashing little white claws. Wooyoung’s chest warms, and he starts petting the kitten in light strokes from head to tail, unable to keep a smile from his face.</p><p>He sits like that for an hour or so, half-watching the TV, half-watching the sleeping kitten in his lap, until his back starts to ache, and his eyes grow tired. </p><p>“Okay, kitty,” Wooyoung says eventually, after the third time he almost dozes off against the back of the couch. “It’s been a long week, I’m going to bed. You wanna come with me?”</p><p>The kitten, of course, does not respond, so Wooyoung just scoops him up in his hands, whispering a quiet, “Sorry,” when the kitten mews at him, apparently indignant at being woken. Wooyoung snags the kitten’s blanket from the couch, too, and then he heads for his bedroom. He sets the kitten down onto his bed, where the kitten wobbles for a second, newly awake and a bit unsteady on his feet, and then Wooyoung folds the blanket into a nice little makeshift nest near the foot of his bed. </p><p>“There you go.” Wooyoung gently plops the kitten into the nest, scratching behind his ears. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>It takes Wooyoung no time to brush his teeth and wash his face, and when he returns to his bedroom, flicking off the light as he goes, he’s slightly surprised to see the kitten still sitting in his little blanket nest. The kitten turns to him in the darkness, a fuzzy black silhouette with pointed ears and a twitching tail, and Wooyoung swears for a moment that he sees the kitten’s eyes flash silver again, but brushes it off as a trick of the shadows and his own exhaustion.</p><p>Wooyoung flops onto his bed, careful not to kick the kitten, and lets out a heavy sigh. This week felt longer than usual, with more work shifts and finals approaching, and he’s more than ready to sleep for about twelve hours, give or take. He’s already almost asleep when he feels the pressure of tiny feet on his stomach, and then on his chest, padding closer. </p><p>Wooyoung squints his eyes open and finds shining eyes watching him in the darkness.</p><p>“Really?” Wooyoung says. The kitten’s purrs seem to grow a bit louder, and Wooyoung just sighs, letting his head fall back onto his pillow. He feels the kitten finally settle just over his collarbone, nestling into the fabric of his sweatshirt. </p><p>“Let’s just hope I don’t roll over onto you in the middle of the night,” Wooyoung grumbles, but he can’t help but smile, lifting a hand to gently tickle the kitten’s cheek.</p><p>He falls asleep to the soft sound of purring, and wakes hours later to sunlight on his face and a kitten missing from his chest.</p><p>Wooyoung sits up automatically, blearily looking around the room.</p><p>“Kitty?” he says, and immediately winces, because god, that sounds silly; he should’ve named the little furball. The blanket nest at the foot of his bed is similarly empty, and Wooyoung starts to panic a bit, already thinking of all the places in his non-kitten-proofed apartment where the kitten could have gotten trapped.</p><p>“Here, kitty, kitty,” Wooyoung coos, sliding out of bed, mindful of where he puts his feet. He peers under his bed and under the dresser, peeks into the dark closet, but nowhere does he see glowing eyes or a furry little head.</p><p>And then he hears something shift in the living room.</p><p>Wooyoung freezes, automatically on edge. He lives alone, so naturally his first terrified thought is that someone has broken into his apartment, but then he remembers that there’s a tiny cat here, somewhere, so hopefully it’s just the cat doing… cat things. Like knocking a book off a shelf. Or— </p><p>Wooyoung hears the distinct sound of the window shades being raised. </p><p>Or… figuring out how to open the window, apparently.</p><p>“K-kitty?” Wooyoung’s voice is higher than before, pitched with barely contained panic. He glances around his bedroom, searching for something he can use as a weapon, just in case, and the best thing he comes up with is the lamp on his bedside table. He yanks the cord from the wall and picks up the lamp, wielding it like a bat over his shoulder, and then, with a deep breath and shaking hands, pulls open the door to his bedroom.</p><p>Wooyoung cautiously steps out into the living room, lamp trembling in his hands, and finds himself staring at what looks like a room full of feathers.</p><p>“What the—” Wooyoung lets his arms fall, the lamp hanging limply by his side, as he stares in wonder at the expanse of dark feathers in front of him, shining black and crimson, rustling quietly against each other, against the walls, the ceiling, Wooyoung’s couch and TV. He can make out three sets of wings, at least, neat and graceful and impossibly large, each protruding from the broad back of a dark figure standing near Wooyoung’s window, looking out onto a snowy morning, silhouetted against the pale winter sunlight.</p><p>The figure turns, and Wooyoung’s breath leaves him in a rush: The shadowy figure is a man, and he is <em> beautiful</em>. Thick dark hair, streaked with red, curls artfully over the man’s forehead. Sharp, silvery eyes meet Wooyoung’s, and Wooyoung feels locked in place, stunned and a bit frightened, only able to stare, taking in high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, full lips. Wooyoung finds himself so hypnotized by the man’s beautiful face that it takes him a moment to realize that the man isn’t wearing clothes so much as writhing, living shadows, curling over his skin and peppered with eerie, red-pupiled eyes that seem to stare right through Wooyoung’s skin. This, paired with the three sets of great black wings, now folded neatly against the man’s back, brings Wooyoung’s shocked mind to one terrible, seemingly obvious conclusion.</p><p>“Am I dead?” Wooyoung says, his voice small.</p><p>The man blinks at him, a strangely human reaction for something so clearly <em> not </em> human.</p><p>“No,” the man says, and his voice is lighter than Wooyoung expected, soft and slightly echoey. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”</p><p>“No, I woke up on my own, I just—” Wooyoung breaks off with a shake of his head, because <em> no</em>, he is not just going to have a normal conversation with this <em> stranger </em> in his apartment, no matter how pretty he is. “Who are you?” Wooyoung asks, forcing his voice to be firm. “How’d you get in here?”</p><p>The man’s head tilts to the side, animal-like, and he looks briefly pensive, but then his brow clears in apparent understanding.</p><p>“Ah, of course you wouldn’t recognize me,” he says. He turns fully towards Wooyoung, wings whispering in a gentle susurrus, and holds up his right arm. The shadows curling around his forearm retreat, revealing what looks like normal human skin, marred by a long, jagged gash, still red at the edges and stained with blood that looks far too dark to be human. “It’s healed slightly, thanks to you and your friend, but it still smarts a bit. I won’t be able to fully use it for at least another day or so.”</p><p>“Thanks to…” Wooyoung trails off, staring at the wound. And then he looks at the man’s silvery eyes, now strangely familiar; the same eyes that blinked sleepily up at Wooyoung from a tiny furry face not twelve hours ago. “Wait, you’re… you’re not saying…” </p><p>The man smiles, a surprisingly soft expression on such a striking face. “What, did you like me better when you could bundle me up into a scarf?”</p><p>The lamp drops to the floor with a clatter. Wooyoung feels slightly dizzy, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He notes vaguely that the wings have shifted a bit, seeming to become smaller even as he watches, but that can’t be right, that can’t be <em> possible</em>, <em> none </em> of this can be possible… can it?</p><p>“Are you all right?” The man sounds kind, concerned, and Wooyoung lets out a choked, half-hysterical laugh. “I’m sorry,” the man says, and now the wings are definitely smaller, seeming to shrink down until they just frame the man’s slim form, and oh god, what is happening, <em> how is this happening? </em> “I know this form can be a lot for mortals to take in, I should’ve—”</p><p>“Oh,” Wooyoung says, interrupting whatever the man was going to say, because the edges of his vision are going gray, and his heart is racing at what feels like triple speed, and he still can’t quite manage to catch a full breath. He flings out his right hand, fumbling until he catches himself on the wall. “I think—I think I’m gonna faint—” he says, surprising even himself, and then all he sees are red-pupiled eyes and curling shadows, and the last thing he remembers are strong arms, catching him as he falls.</p><p>*</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Demon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>eyyyyy we're back~</p>
<p>thanks so much for the wonderful response to this fic so far! it's lovely to see, and i truly appreciate it. ;w; </p>
<p>enjoy~!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wooyoung opens his eyes to find himself staring at his living room ceiling. He blinks for a second, feeling bleary, his mouth dry and thick. He shifts with a groan and realizes that he’s lying on his couch, his head on a pillow, a blanket spread over his legs, pulled up to just above his hips. He lifts a hand to his face and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remember how he got here, and then— </p>
<p>“You’re awake.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung freezes, his heart racing despite how soft the unfamiliar voice is. Slowly, Wooyoung turns his head and sees the beautiful man sitting on the floor on the other side of the room, one knee pulled up to his chest. His wings are nowhere to be seen now, and neither are the curling shadows nor the red-pupiled eyes, but his own eyes are still sharp and silvery, bright with concern. He’s wearing sweatpants and a plain black tanktop that Wooyoung recognizes as his own, revealing unfairly broad shoulders and toned arms and collarbones that Wooyoung tries very hard not to look at for too long.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” the man says, an echo from earlier. “I should’ve known not to take that form without warning. How’s your head?”</p>
<p>“Fine, I think,” Wooyoung says, and it’s true; his temples throb dully, but it’s nothing he won’t survive. “Oh god, did I really faint? That’s embarrassing.”</p>
<p>The man tilts his head. “Why? You were faced with my true form. Other mortals have gone mad from as much.”</p>
<p>“What?” Wooyoung’s voice cracks slightly on that syllable, and he groans again, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Ugh, are you sure I haven’t gone mad? Because you used to be a cat.”</p>
<p>“I was never actually a cat,” the man says. “That’s just a form I take when I’m in the mortal realm. I find that humans are much less likely to scream and run away when they see me like that.”</p>
<p>“Go figure.” Wooyoung holds his hands over his eyes, focusing on taking deep breaths. He can feel the man’s eyes on him, and his skin tingles slightly from the attention; the man, as mysterious and potentially dangerous and clothes-thieving as he is, is still incredibly handsome, and Wooyoung is determined to not let that fact distract him, if he can help it.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re all right?” the man asks, and curse him, he sounds genuinely concerned. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m fine, I just… This is a lot to take in, okay? I mean, you were a cat. Kind of. And then you were… something else. And now you just look like… a person. A really <em> pretty </em> person,” Wooyoung says, because apparently he has lost all brain-to-mouth filter control, “but still just a person.” Wooyoung lowers his hands, finally looking again at the man sitting on his floor. “Who are you? Why are you here?”</p>
<p>“My name is San.” The man’s lips curve into a small smile, and he hooks his chin over his knee, looking strangely small. “I’m here because I owe you my life.”</p>
<p>“You… you huh?” Wooyoung says, eloquently. </p>
<p>“You saved my life,” says San. “I am indebted to you, and as such, I vow to protect you for the rest of your natural life.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s heart throbs somewhere behind his ears. He stares at the beautiful, impossible man watching him with uncanny silvery eyes and pledging his life to him and wonders whether it’s possible to dream in such detail, because this can’t be real, right? It can’t be—  </p>
<p>“Wait,” Wooyoung says, breathless, realizing something. “Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t—I didn’t do anything, though, Seonghwa is the one who really helped you, I just scarf-burrito’d you—”</p>
<p>“You found me.” San frowns slightly, his lips pursing into a little pout. <em> Cute</em>, Wooyoung thinks, automatically, and then mentally smacks himself, because now is not the <em> time</em>. “You took me in when I was wounded and half-conscious even though you could have left me to die in the cold. Your friend helped to treat my wound, yes, but <em> you </em> saved me. So I am indebted to you.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung feels his neck and ears grow warm. </p>
<p>“... Oh,” he says, voice small.</p>
<p>San watches him carefully. “Are you still feeling okay?”</p>
<p>“I’m not gonna faint again, if that’s what you’re asking,” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>San smiles, and Wooyoung’s heart thuds painfully, unfairly. “Just making sure.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung heaves himself upright on the couch, placing his feet on the floor and his elbows on his knees. He’s still barefoot and clad in his pajamas (aka, old shorts and a baggy sweatshirt), but he tries to seem confident, despite his mussed hair and unbrushed teeth.</p>
<p>“Okay, so,” he says. “You’re clearly not human.”</p>
<p>“Clearly.” San sounds amused, silvery eyes glinting.</p>
<p>“Are you a demon?”</p>
<p>San’s expression flickers, too quickly for Wooyoung to decipher.</p>
<p>“I suppose that depends on who you ask,” San says.</p>
<p>“I’m asking you,” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>San stares at him for a beat, his lips slightly parted in surprise, and then says, “Technically I’m a seraph.”</p>
<p>“Like an angel?” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>“Mm, you were a bit closer with demon, I think.” San lifts his shoulders in a graceful shrug. “I’m not exactly on the best terms with the heavens right now.”</p>
<p>“So… you’re evil?” Wooyoung asks, frowning.</p>
<p>“Do I seem evil to you?”</p>
<p>“No,” Wooyoung says automatically, and he’s a bit surprised to find that he believes it. </p>
<p>San gives him a small smile. “There you have it, then.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung files that mystery away for later, and then says, “And this debt you say you owe me. You’ll… protect me?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“From what, exactly?” Wooyoung spreads his hands. “I’m just a normal college student. I don’t really need a lot of protection these days.”</p>
<p>“Easy job for me, then,” San says with another smile, and Wooyoung has to look away before his cheeks can flame too hard, because San has <em> dimples </em> when he smiles. Do all demons have dimples? That doesn’t seem fair.</p>
<p>“So, what, you’ll just… live here?” Wooyoung says. “With me? I mean, I don’t have an extra bedroom, and I don’t know what you eat, do you—do you eat human food? Or—”</p>
<p>“Wooyoung.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung breaks off, his breath catching; his name in San’s soft, fond voice makes his gut twist in a way he hasn’t felt in years, not since his first hopeless crush in high school. His hands curl into fists on his knees.</p>
<p>“How—how do you know my name?” Wooyoung asks, barely audible.</p>
<p>“Your friend called you Wooyoung on the phone last night,” San says gently. “I was delirious, but I could still hear. And you don’t have to worry about housing me. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself while protecting you.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” An emotion eerily close to disappointment skims over Wooyoung’s skin, but he brushes it off as nonsense, suddenly reminded of more important matters. “Oh, right! How’s your arm?”</p>
<p>San shifts slightly, and Wooyoung realizes that he’s been sitting in a way that hid his right forearm from Wooyoung’s view. </p>
<p>“It’ll be fine,” San says.</p>
<p>“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Wooyoung says. He stands, his knees still a bit wobbly, but manages to walk over to where San is sitting without falling, which feels like a victory. San pulls back slightly as Wooyoung approaches, angling his right arm further behind his back.</p>
<p>“Really, it’s fine,” San says, holding out his other hand to keep Wooyoung at bay.</p>
<p>Wooyoung frowns down at him, then folds his legs beneath himself, ending up cross-legged right in front of San. San looks startled by this new proximity, and Wooyoung finds himself a bit stunned by his own boldness; San is absolutely exquisite this close, silvery eyes framed by long lashes, thick dark hair perfectly tousled.</p>
<p>Wooyoung fixes San with as stern a look as he can muster and holds out a hand.</p>
<p>“Give me your arm, please,” he says. </p>
<p>“It’s <em> fine</em>,” San says.</p>
<p>“Consider this part of your debt repayment, then,” Wooyoung says. “For me saving your life.”</p>
<p>San makes a face at him, and then lets out a quiet sigh, presenting his right arm to Wooyoung. Wooyoung’s burst of triumph is short-lived, fizzling into concern as soon as he sees San’s arm.</p>
<p>“Holy shit,” Wooyoung says, eyes wide. He presses tentative fingers to the inside of San’s forearm, thrilling a bit at the contact (<em>he’s real, this isn’t a dream, San is </em> real), unwilling to touch anywhere near the livid skin surrounding the jagged, oozing wound that runs from the back of San’s hand to his elbow. Dark blood (<em>i</em><em>chor?</em>) crusts the rough edges of the wound, and the skin around it looks inflamed, angry reds and purples. “This is not <em> fine</em>, San, this is—is it infected?”</p>
<p>“It’s poisoned.” Wooyoung can feel San’s eyes on him, watching him closely, but Wooyoung doesn’t look up, suddenly hesitant to meet that sharp gaze. “That’s why I was so out of it last night.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been <em> poisoned? </em>” Wooyoung’s heart clenches, and his fingers curl slightly against San’s skin. “Are you… are you okay? Who did this to you?”</p>
<p>Gentle fingers catch Wooyoung’s chin, lifting his head until he meets silver eyes. </p>
<p>“I’m okay, Wooyoung,” San says. “You don’t need to worry about me.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung presses his lips together, his throat suddenly feeling stupidly, irritatingly thick, despite San still being a stranger, and not human, which should probably be terrifying, on some level, but there’s something about knowing that San is hurt, that San was <em> attacked</em>, that makes Wooyoung’s stomach twist. He can’t stop picturing the tiny, shivering kitten from last night, and to know now that the kitten crying out in pain as Seonghwa cleaned his wound was <em> San</em>… </p>
<p>Wooyoung pulls away, not unkindly, and gets to his feet. </p>
<p>“I’ll be right back,” he says, and then he heads for the bathroom, where he knows he’ll find a FirstAid kit beneath the sink, courtesy of his mother when he first went away to college. He turns on the bathroom light and takes a moment to lean against the counter, taking deep breaths.</p>
<p>There is a wounded demon in his living room. A wounded demon who was attacked by some unknown force that left him poisoned and delirious and half-dead in the cold. A wounded demon who has pledged his life to Wooyoung, and just so happens to be the most beautiful creature Wooyoung has ever seen.</p>
<p>Wooyoung sighs and rubs his hands over his face. </p>
<p>“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, you can do this. You can patch up a possibly immortal being. And somehow not freak out over the fact that you thought he was a cat and snuggled him to sleep last night. It’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung meets his own gaze in the mirror. There are circles under his eyes, his hair is sticking up at all angles, his lips are slightly chapped, and now he has to face San again, while looking like an over-tired college student.</p>
<p>“<em>God</em>,” he whispers. He lowers his face into his hands and lets out a muffled groan. His mind won’t stop racing, flashing from a tiny kitten curled up on his chest, to silvery eyes catching his, to the pained cries of what was apparently an injured <em> demon— </em></p>
<p>With a heavy sigh, Wooyoung splashes water over his face, tugs his hair back into a messy ponytail, and grabs the FirstAid kit from under the sink, then takes one more deep breath before heading back out into the living room.</p>
<p>He pauses at the threshold, half-stunned that San is still sitting there, leaning against the wall, his injured right arm propped up on his knee. San glances up at him as he enters the room, bright eyes curious.</p>
<p>“You changed your hair,” San says, blinking at him.</p>
<p>Wooyoung settles on the ground in front of San, trying to will away the warmth he can feel creeping into his cheeks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, it was… it’s getting long,” he says, clicking open the latches on the FirstAid kit.</p>
<p>“I like it.” San says it so simply that Wooyoung startles slightly and meets his gaze, expecting to find that he’s teasing, but San looks entirely, terribly genuine.</p>
<p>Wooyoung ducks his head, wishing that he hadn’t pulled his hair back so he could hide behind his overlong bangs.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he mumbles. “So are you gonna tell me who did this to you, or nah?”</p>
<p>“Nah,” San says, and even though Wooyoung is busying himself digging through the FirstAid kit, pulling out antibiotic cream and bandages and gauze, he can hear the way that San smiles.</p>
<p>“You could’ve died,” Wooyoung says, scowling down at the roll of gauze in his hand. His mind keeps coming back to that, for some reason. He can’t shake the image of San, abandoned, poisoned and dying in the snow. </p>
<p>“Does that upset you?” San’s voice is soft, and Wooyoung can’t help but glance at him, briefly meeting that sharp, silver gaze.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Wooyoung lies, because it <em> does </em> bother him, but what bothers him more is the fact that he’s bothered in the first place. San is a stranger, in every definition of the term. Just because Wooyoung knows his name and saved his life and accidentally cuddled him when he was a kitten doesn’t change the fact that Wooyoung still knows nothing about him. San nearly dying shouldn’t bother him. It <em> shouldn’t</em>. And yet… </p>
<p>Wooyoung huffs out a frustrated breath. </p>
<p>“Arm,” he says, holding out a hand, and San obediently settles his injured arm onto Wooyoung’s outstretched palm.</p>
<p>“This really isn’t necessary,” San says. “It’ll heal on its own eventually.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t save your life last night just for you to die from poison today,” Wooyoung says. “What good is your life debt to me if you’re dead?”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to—” San breaks off with a sigh, closing his eyes. “Fine. Go ahead.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Wooyoung uses one hand to tip antibiotic solution onto a cloth pad, but he hesitates just before touching the soaked cloth to the puckered edges of San’s wound. Looking too hard at the deep gash turns his stomach slightly; he swallows hard, his fingers clenching. “This might—it might sting, okay?”</p>
<p>“Okay.” San’s voice is hushed, warm.</p>
<p>Wooyoung takes a deep breath, and then gently touches the cloth to where the gash begins on the back of San’s hand. He expects San to flinch, to hiss, to show <em> some </em> sort of reaction, because the cut looks so raw, and Wooyoung <em> knows </em> that this antibacterial stings, but San’s arm remains steady. Wooyoung glances at San’s face and finds San watching him, smiling softly.</p>
<p>“Stop that,” Wooyoung says, his cheeks heating as he turns his attention back to San’s wound, patting the cloth gently over San’s hand, his wrist, his forearm.</p>
<p>“Stop watching you?” San says. “Or stop smiling?”</p>
<p>“I dunno,” Wooyoung mutters. “Both.”</p>
<p>“You’re a strange human, Wooyoung.” </p>
<p>Wooyoung lets out a helpless laugh, one-handedly tipping more antibacterial solution onto the now dark-stained pad. He can see the solution bubbling slightly in the wound, and he hopes that’s a good sign, hopes that it’s cleaning out whatever poison might be lingering within San’s blood, even if San can’t feel it.</p>
<p>“Why do you say that?” Wooyoung says. </p>
<p>“You’re not afraid of me,” San says. “Despite your fainting spell earlier, but that was to be expected.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung hazards another glance at San’s face and finds San peering thoughtfully up at the ceiling, apparently compliant with Wooyoung’s request to stop watching him. </p>
<p>“Well,” Wooyoung says, “you haven’t given me a reason to be afraid yet, so.” He shrugs. “I’m not.”</p>
<p>“You will never need to fear me,” San says. “I promise.”</p>
<p>“Then we’re gonna be fine.” Wooyoung drops the bloodstained cloth into the lid of the kit, wets another with the antibacterial solution, and starts dabbing again, this time closer to San’s elbow, which naturally leads to Wooyoung leaning even closer to San, so close that he can feel his warmth.</p>
<p>“May I ask you something?” San says.</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>“Why does my brush with death distress you?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung freezes, eyes wide.</p>
<p>“It, uh—what?” he says.</p>
<p>“You seem distressed,” San says. “By this.” He wiggles his arm in Wooyoung’s grip. “And you’ve asked me twice who did it. Why? Are you planning to get revenge?”</p>
<p>“No, I just—” Wooyoung sputters, and then he sits back with a frustrated sigh, flinging the second bloodstained cloth into the kit. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why it bothers me. I just don’t like that you’re injured, and I don’t like that you’ve been <em> poisoned</em>, and I guess I’m glad that I saved your life, and I’m scared—” Wooyoung breaks off, his heart stuttering; he almost just admitted to something he hadn’t even fully admitted to himself.</p>
<p>San catches it, though, his brow furrowing. “You’re scared?”</p>
<p>“I—” Wooyoung closes his mouth, opens it again, and then shakes his head. “I just… What if whatever did this comes back to finish the job?”</p>
<p>San’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh,” he says, and then his hands are cupping Wooyoung’s jaw, so gently, warm fingers on flushed skin. “Wooyoung, I would never let them come here, and I will never let them harm you. I swear. You have nothing to worry about.” Silvery eyes bore deep into Wooyoung’s, leaving him rather breathless. “I’ll keep you safe.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s pulse skyrockets, his skin tingling where San touches him. He reaches up with his right hand and gently wraps his fingers around San’s uninjured wrist.</p>
<p>“I’m not—” He breaks off, unable to continue the thought, too caught by San’s earnest, gleaming eyes. <em> I’m not scared for me</em>, he almost says, but that feels like far too much of an admission for this demon he has known for less than a full hour, so instead he whispers, “Okay,” and that seems to satisfy San, who smiles at him, thumbs skimming over Wooyoung’s cheeks, and then lets him go, offering his injured arm again.</p>
<p>Wooyoung continues to clean the wound, his cheeks warm. </p>
<p>“So do you always swear eternal protection to people who help you out, or am I special?” Wooyoung says, trying to sound casual and largely failing due to the way his voice trembles.</p>
<p>“Only those who save my life,” San says. “And no. You’re the first.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung pauses, his fingers tightening around the bloodstained cloth in his hand.</p>
<p>“I’m honored,” he says. He tosses the cloth into the FirstAid kit’s lid with the others, then reaches for a roll of soft gauze. </p>
<p>“You really don’t need to—”</p>
<p>“Please,” Wooyoung says quietly. “Please just let me finish this.” He meets San’s gaze again, determined, and San closes his mouth with a small sigh. </p>
<p>Wooyoung bandages San’s arm in silence. He can hear his own pulse thudding in his ears, can hear his neighbors waking up, someone walking around in the apartment above his, loud footfalls on creaking floorboards. It’s a strange reminder that for the rest of the world, this is just a normal, wintry, demon-less Saturday morning. Distantly, Wooyoung thinks of the homework sitting uncompleted in his bag, followed closely by the low growl of his stomach, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten breakfast yet.</p>
<p>“You should eat something,” San says, and Wooyoung flushes as he cuts the length of gauze, finished wrapping San’s wound. </p>
<p>“I will.” Wooyoung grabs the medical tape next, carefully tapes the edges of the bandages, and then sits back slightly to look at his handiwork. The wrapping is a bit crooked, but the wound is securely covered, and Wooyoung knows that it’s as clean as it can be beneath the gauze. “There,” he says, tossing the gauze and tape back into the kit. “All done.”</p>
<p>San touches his fingertips to the bandages, looking at the dressing with a soft expression.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says, and then meets Wooyoung’s eye. “Now breakfast.”</p>
<p>“Is this what protecting me is going to look like?” Wooyoung says, unable to hold back a smile as he packs up the FirstAid kit. “Bullying me into taking care of myself?”</p>
<p>“If necessary,” San says.</p>
<p>“Okay, fine. Let me put this away and freshen up a little bit, and then I’ll have some food.”</p>
<p>Ten minutes later finds Wooyoung in the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee and getting eggs and vegetables out of the refrigerator. San stands unobtrusively near the kitchen table, watching Wooyoung with bright eyes. Wooyoung fidgets slightly under that uncanny gaze, despite the fact that San is clearly trying his best to stay out of the way, and finally turns to face him, holding a skillet in one hand.</p>
<p>“Do you want some eggs?” Wooyoung asks. “I know you said you can look out for yourself, but I’ll be cooking, anyway, and it feels rude to just eat without you.”</p>
<p>San tilts his head slightly, a distinctly inhuman gesture.</p>
<p>“You’ll cook for me?” he says.</p>
<p>“Well… yeah.” Wooyoung lifts his eyebrows and waves the skillet a bit. “You in? I make a mean tamagoyaki.” </p>
<p>San appears to consider this for a moment, and then he beams, all dimples and crinkled eyes, and Wooyoung’s heart does this <em> ka-THNK </em> thing that he hopes San doesn’t hear from across the room.</p>
<p>And that’s how Wooyoung ends up sitting across from a demon at his rickety little kitchen table, placing a neat roll of egg and chopped vegetables onto the demon’s plate. Wooyoung watches with bated breath as San delicately picks up the tamagoyaki (<em>how does a demon even know how to use chopsticks, anyway?</em>) and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. San’s eyes widen, and he lifts a hand to his lips.</p>
<p>“It’s delicious,” he says, slightly muffled with food in his mouth, and Wooyoung grins at him.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” he says, inordinately pleased. “I’m glad. Eat up, I made a lot.”</p>
<p>San automatically reaches for another roll, and Wooyoung wonders if this is what his mother feels like every time she urges him to eat one of her home-cooked meals. San seems rather fascinated by the act of eating and ends up at one point with his cheeks puffed full of egg, silvery eyes shining. <em> Cute</em>, Wooyoung thinks, again, which is still an utterly bizarre thought for him to have about a demon, but he decides to skip past that for now.</p>
<p>“So what happened to your wings?” Wooyoung asks eventually. “And all the… you know. The eyes and shadows and stuff.”</p>
<p>San blinks at him. “They’re still there,” he says. “I’ve just hidden them for now. For your sake.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Wooyoung takes a long sip of coffee, squinting at San’s distinct lack of curling shadows and eerie red eyes and giant black-feathered wings. “Can you fly?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” San’s mouth quirks slightly, amused. “Would you like to see?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s heart leaps for a second in mild panic at the idea of someone noticing a black-winged demon bursting through his window and into the air in the middle of the city.</p>
<p>“I’ll take your word for it,” he says. </p>
<p>San sits back in his chair then, setting his chopsticks neatly on the table beside his plate. His brow furrows slightly as he looks around Wooyoung’s apartment, his eyes catching on the clock, Wooyoung’s discarded school bag, and then on Wooyoung himself. Wooyoung fidgets slightly under that intense gaze.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>“Would you like me to leave?” San asks.</p>
<p>Wooyoung freezes, caught off guard by the simple, unexpected question.</p>
<p>“You have a life to get back to,” San continues. “And I don’t actually need to be here, in your home, to protect you. If you have things you need to do, just tell me, and I’ll go.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Wooyoung frowns. “I mean, I guess I should probably get some work done today. Homework and laundry and all that. And that would be pretty boring for you to hang around for, wouldn’t it?” A strange, almost forlorn emotion curls in Wooyoung’s gut; he shoves it down. “Where will you go? Will you be okay on your own?”</p>
<p>San’s smile is unfairly soft. “I’ll be fine. Really, Wooyoung,” he says, and Wooyoung hates the way his heart jumps when he hears his name spoken in San’s soft voice. “You don’t need to worry about me.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung stares into his half-empty coffee cup, tapping his thumbnail absently against the ceramic. </p>
<p>“Will you come back?” he asks, quietly.</p>
<p>San is quiet for a moment, and then says, “If you want me to.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung nods, slowly, absently. “Is there any way for me to… contact you? If I need to?”</p>
<p>“If you say my name three times, I will find you,” San says.</p>
<p>“Oh… wow. Okay.” Wooyoung lets out a little laugh. “God, it’s like you’re from a fairytale or something.”</p>
<p>San’s answering smile is oddly sad. He gets to his feet and pushes his chair in. Wooyoung stares up at him for a second, startled, and then he scrambles to his feet, too, figuring it’s the polite thing to do.</p>
<p>“Goodbye, Wooyoung-ah,” San says quietly, carefully, like he’s trying out the nickname, tasting it on his tongue, and Wooyoung finds strangely that he doesn’t mind it at all, as familiar as it is.</p>
<p>“G-goodbye,” Wooyoung stammers, and before he can say another word, there’s a rush of air and the low rustle of feathers and then San is gone, not a shadow or dark feather left behind. The breath leaves Wooyoung’s lungs in a rush, and he feels suddenly very alone. Before he can think better of it, he runs to the window and peers outside, looking for black wings against gray clouds, but there’s nothing in the sky except the weakly shining sun, struggling to come out, and a distant plane tracing a vapor trail above the clouds.</p>
<p>“Idiot,” he mutters at himself, turning away from the window. His gaze snags on a small dark spot on his carpet, near where San was sitting. It’s probably blood, and while there’s a part of Wooyoung that knows he should clean it up, he moves instead to clean up the kitchen, deciding to keep that little bit of proof for a while longer, at least.</p>
<p>The rest of Wooyoung’s Saturday passes as it usually does. He takes a long, lazy, scalding shower, standing under the spray until his fingertips start to crinkle and his bathroom becomes a mini sauna. He starts his homework in the living room, sitting on the floor with his laptop and textbooks spread open across the coffee table, a celebrity cooking show playing at low volume on his TV for background noise. He eats a small lunch, drinks too much coffee, and makes it about two-thirds of the way through his weekend assignments before his apartment starts to darken, and he realizes that evening has fallen.</p>
<p>Wooyoung saves his essay and sits up straight, wincing as his back cracks after being hunched over the laptop for so long. He checks his phone and finds a text from Seonghwa, from about an hour ago: </p>
<p>
  <em> how’s the kitten? </em>
</p>
<p>Wooyoung stares at the text, and then at the dark stain on his carpet, probably pretty well set by now, damnit.</p>
<p><em> i have no idea </em>, Wooyoung types in response, and then erases that. </p>
<p><em> doing much better! </em> Wooyoung types, and then erases that, too.</p>
<p>Wooyoung sighs, and then scrolls into his camera roll from last night, picks a cute picture of the kitten (<em>San</em>, Wooyoung thinks as he selects it, and yeah, that’s still weird) curled up in his little blanket nest on the couch, and sends it to Seonghwa with the simple caption, <em> he’s doing good! </em> </p>
<p>Wooyoung sets his phone aside, praying that Seonghwa doesn’t end up wanting to video chat to see for himself how the kitten is doing, and then lifts his arms in a languorous stretch. Wooyoung yawns, his sedentary afternoon catching up to him, and then looks to his kitchen, thinking vaguely about maybe making some dinner. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, mussing it up. He automatically starts gathering it back into a messy little bun, but he freezes halfway through tying it back, his heart tripping lightly as he remembers soft words spoken earlier that day.</p>
<p>
  <em> You changed your hair. I like it. </em>
</p>
<p>“Don’t be dumb, Jung Wooyoung,” Wooyoung grumbles, aggressively completing his little bun, letting the hair band snap loudly into place. “No pining over strange demon cat-men. You are an adult. Kind of. You don’t have time for that sort of nonsense.”</p>
<p>But Wooyoung finds his eyes drawn once again to the little bloodstain on his carpet, and his thoughts turn once again to silvery eyes and a soft, dimpled smile.</p>
<p>
  <em> If you say my name three times, I will find you. </em>
</p>
<p>Wooyoung gets to his feet. He heads to the window, peering out into the dim evening light, warm glowing windows and clouds of steam coming from the rooftops of nearby buildings, glittering like little clouds in the chilly air. He watches as the streetlights start to click on, casting broad circlets of amber light over the snow, reminding him of tiny droplets of blood glistening in the darkness, a small dark bundle, weak and shivering and crying out in pain— </p>
<p>“San,” Wooyoung says, quietly. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides. “God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mumbles, but his heart is already starting to race, his skin prickling with anticipation, and he says again, “San.” His heart starts to pound in earnest, and he closes his eyes, and then, louder, for the last time, he says, “San.”</p>
<p>The apartment is silent for a moment, still and dim as the early winter twilight falls, and then Wooyoung hears the rustle of wings behind him. He whirls, his heart in his throat, and finds San standing in the middle of his living room, huge dark wings folding neatly against his back, brushing the ceiling as they settle. Shadows curl away from his skin, retreating beneath the tanktop and sweatpants he borrowed earlier that day, leaving him looking beautiful and human, glowing silvery eyes and three sets of wings aside. There are still bandages on his right arm, clean and a bit crooked. He smiles at Wooyoung, one brow lifting, and the breath leaves Wooyoung’s lungs.</p>
<p>“You came back,” Wooyoung says, barely thinking.</p>
<p>“Of course I did,” San says. “Are you all right? Do you need something?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung considers that. Is he all right? Yes, he’s fine; bored, and a bit tired, and his back is kind of sore, but altogether not too shabby at all. Does he need something? He didn’t think so, but now, staring in wonder at the demon standing in his living room, feeling excitement flicker like a little flame in his belly, he thinks that yes, he might just need this.</p>
<p>“Do you want some dinner?” Wooyoung says, and San’s smile grows warm.</p>
<p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>woosan becoming smitten over each other in less than a day? in one of <i>my</i> fics? it's more likely than you think.</p>
<p>thanks for reading~!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Visit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So can you do magic?” Wooyoung asks, passing San a dripping dish.</p><p>“Like Houdini magic?” San takes the dish delicately, clearly trying his best to be careful, and starts drying it with the towel in his hands. They finished eating a little while ago, and when Wooyoung stood to clean up the kitchen, San insisted on helping, which Wooyoung is doing his best not to find unfairly endearing.</p><p>“You know who Houdini is?” Wooyoung shoves a pan beneath the soapy water in his sink and starts to scrub.</p><p>“I know many things.”</p><p>Wooyoung side-eyes San, who flashes him a soft, amused smile as he gently sets the now-dry dish onto the countertop.</p><p>“My question stands.” Wooyoung scrubs harder at the pan beneath the water. He can feel a lock of hair brushing against his cheek, escaped from his messy ponytail; he shrugs at it with his shoulder, trying to get it away from his face.</p><p>“Then yes, I can do Houdini magic,” San says.</p><p>“Like what?” Wooyoung shakes his hair back, and then freezes as careful fingers brush against his temple, sweeping the rogue lock of hair behind his ear.</p><p>“I can make myself unseen, if I wish,” San says, and his voice sounds the same, still entirely casual, like he didn’t just make Wooyoung’s pulse skyrocket with the simplest, smallest of touches. “I can fly. I am able to heal myself, and travel great distances in the blink of an eye, and shapeshift, as you have seen.”</p><p>“Can you shapeshift into anything you want?” Wooyoung manages to keep his voice steady as he hands the pan over to San, despite his racing heart.</p><p>“Anything living.” San dries the pan and then sets it beside the other dish on the counter, so gently that it barely makes a sound. </p><p>“So where are you from?” Wooyoung grabs a knife from the counter and dunks it under the water, swiping his sponge down the blade.</p><p>No answer comes immediately. Wooyoung glances at San to find him frowning thoughtfully down at the towel in his hands.</p><p>“That… is a rather complicated question, Wooyoung-ah,” he says, his voice low.</p><p>Wooyoung goes still. “Why?”</p><p>San reaches over, dips his hand beneath the soapy water, and plucks the knife carefully from Wooyoung’s fingers.</p><p>“Ask another question please,” San says, softly, as he wipes down the blade. “I know you have more.”</p><p>Wooyoung narrows his eyes at San, but grabs another pan from the counter, deciding not to pursue it, at least for now.</p><p>“Why were you attacked yesterday?” he asks instead.</p><p>San lets out a quiet sigh, and for a moment Wooyoung is afraid he’ll side-step this question, too, but then San says, “I broke some rules I shouldn’t have broken.”</p><p>“What kind of rules?” Wooyoung asks, his heart stuttering nervously as he scrubs at the pan in the sink. </p><p>“I didn’t hurt anyone, if that’s your concern,” San says.</p><p>Wooyoung <em> was </em> a bit worried about that, actually, but it feels rather rude to show obvious relief now that his brief suspicions ended up not being true, so instead he rinses off the pan and hands it over to San.</p><p>“So you broke some rules, and someone tried to hunt you down to… what? Arrest you?”</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>“Hm.” Wooyoung squeezes the sponge over the sink. “Okay, that’s the last of them,” he says. He pulls the plug in the sink, letting the soapy water drain, and lazily swipes the sponge over the counter to clear it of any leftover crumbs or stains. “Thanks for helping out.”</p><p>“Thank you for serving me dinner.” San hands Wooyoung the pan he just finished drying, which Wooyoung takes with a small smile before turning to store it in its usual cabinet. His eyes catch the bandages still wrapped around San’s arm when he moves to grab more of the dishes, preparing to put them all away.</p><p>“You said you could heal yourself, right?” Wooyoung says, bumping up onto his toes to shove a serving dish onto a particularly high shelf.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then why didn’t you heal your arm?”</p><p>“Ah.” San glances at his arm as he hands Wooyoung one of the knives, handle first. “The poison works as both a hallucinogenic sedative and an anticoagulant of sorts, so not only was I barely able to stay upright, I was too weak to even properly stop the bleeding. I believe the plan was for me to pass out and bleed to death in the snow, ideally.”</p><p>“‘<em>Ideally</em>’?” Wooyoung freezes in place, mouth agape, still holding a knife. </p><p>“Not for me, of course,” San says, looking a bit befuddled by Wooyoung’s horror. “For my attackers.”</p><p>“San, that’s—that’s <em> awful</em>, you really could have died, who the—?” Wooyoung cuts himself off with a frustrated huff, because he doubts that San will answer that question now when he already refused to multiple times that day.</p><p>San fixes him with a sad smile and takes the knife from his hands (again), setting it aside on the counter.</p><p>“Do you have any other questions?” he asks, quietly.</p><p>Wooyoung sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. <em> Yes</em>, he wants to say. <em> Why won’t you tell me who did this to you? What rules did you break to be hunted so ruthlessly? Are you still in any pain? And why are you being so kind to me? How do I know you’re not just a dream? </em></p><p>Wooyoung looks at San, standing calmly in his kitchen, still clad in the sweatpants and tanktop from earlier, but now with one of Wooyoung’s cardigans thrown on, as well, a ribbed navy sweater that clings distractingly to San’s broad shoulders. If it weren’t for those uncanny silver eyes, he would almost look human.</p><p>Wooyoung sighs. “Do you wanna watch a movie?” he says.</p><p>*</p><p>They’re halfway through the first <em> Thor </em> movie, Wooyoung curled into one corner of the couch, San seated on the other, when Wooyoung’s phone lights up on the coffee table with a text from Seonghwa.</p><p>
  <em> hey! hongjoong and i are in the neighborhood. are you busy? we want to see the kitten! </em>
</p><p>“Oh shit,” Wooyoung breathes, eyes wide as he stares at his phone. “Oh shit, oh shit.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” San sounds alarmed, which is a bit strange, considering he sounded completely unfazed even when he was talking about his own attempted murder earlier.</p><p>“Seonghwa’s coming over, and he wants to see the kitten,” Wooyoung says. “I mean, you. He wants to see you as the kitten. Shit, maybe I can tell him that I took you to a vet? Or that I found your owner? Not that you actually have an owner, of course, I just mean—”</p><p>“Wooyoung.” San’s voice cuts through Wooyoung’s ranting, back to sounding calm and fond. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I can still turn into a kitten.”  </p><p>Wooyoung stares at him for a moment, still half in panic mode, and then San’s words sink in, and he feels himself deflate, slumping onto the couch in relief.</p><p>“Oh,” he breathes. “Right. Because you’re already here, and you can—right. Oh my god.” He drops his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, just… ignore me. It’s been a long day.”</p><p>“It’s all right.” Wooyoung can hear San’s smile, but he refuses to look at him, afraid of what that fond, dimpled smile might do to his heart. “When will he be here?” </p><p>“Lemme check.” Wooyoung fumbles for his phone and shoots off what he hopes is a casual message in response, letting Seonghwa know that he and Hongjoong are welcome any time, but they should give him a heads up when they’re close. “You sure you’re okay with this? Seonghwa might want to get… snuggly.”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” San says. “He was very kind yesterday.”</p><p>Wooyoung feels himself soften, smiling at his phone as Seonghwa texts him back, complete with multiple exclamation points and a cat emoji.</p><p>“He is kind,” he agrees quietly. </p><p>San watches him, his head tilting. “You care for him.”</p><p>“Of course,” Wooyoung says, setting his phone aside after sending a heart emoji in response. “He’s one of my best friends.”</p><p>San hums, sounding thoughtful, and Wooyoung pauses, a reluctant curiosity suddenly rearing its head.</p><p>“Do you… have friends?” Wooyoung says, and then immediately flushes, feeling guilty. “Sorry, that sounds bad, I don’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t have friends, it’s just—you seem curious about Seonghwa-hyung, so… do demons have… friends? Like humans do?”</p><p>San is quiet for a moment. He looks away from Wooyoung, down at the bandages wrapped around his right arm. He touches the bandages with his left hand, fingers tracing the clumsy edge of Wooyoung’s wrapping job.</p><p>“Yes,” San murmurs, after a few long moments. “I have…” San hesitates, brow furrowing. “Had… friends.”</p><p>“‘Had’?” Wooyoung says, gently; he feels like maybe this isn’t something he should prod at, but his chest feels strangely heavy, saddened at the idea of San being all alone.</p><p>“I’m not sure whether they would still want to be called my friends now that I’m a fugitive,” San says. He smiles at Wooyoung, impossibly lovely despite the pain in his eyes. “So… ‘had.’”</p><p>Wooyoung stares at him for a moment, and then he forces a smile, despite the way his heart twists in his chest.</p><p>“Well, you have me now,” he says, doing his best to sound optimistic. “I’ll be your friend.”</p><p>San blinks at him, and then his smile turns genuine, warm and dimpled and large enough that his eyes curve into crescents.</p><p>“I’d like that,” he says. </p><p>Feeling suddenly shy, Wooyoung clears his throat and pokes at his phone screen, checking the time.</p><p>“Seonghwa said they’ll be here in a few minutes,” Wooyoung says. “How long do you need to—?”</p><p>San vanishes before Wooyoung even finishes his sentence, so quickly that Wooyoung startles slightly, whipping his head around to find a familiar black kitten mincing his careful way out of a pile of clothes, shaking himself to get free of the heavy material of the navy blue cardigan.</p><p>“Oh,” Wooyoung breathes. “That was easy.”</p><p>The kitten—<em> San</em>, Wooyoung corrects himself, and yep, that’s weird all over again—settles primly on his haunches beside the abandoned clothes, his tail curling around his feet, little ears pricked up. </p><p>“Um… thanks.” Wooyoung reaches out automatically, instinct making him want to pet the little cat, but he stops himself with his hand in the air just over San’s ears. “Is this okay? Can I touch you?”</p><p>San’s silvery eyes seem to blaze, fixed firmly on Wooyoung’s face, and then San closes his eyes and lowers his head in apparent assent.</p><p>Wooyoung runs gentle fingers over San’s head, starting between his ears and running down his back. San starts to purr, a low, comforting rumble, and Wooyoung scritches his fingers briefly beneath San’s chin, smiling at the way San lifts his head, arching into the touch. </p><p>And then Wooyoung’s phone lights up with another text, signalling that Seonghwa and Hongjoong are on their way up, and Wooyoung jumps to his feet, his cheeks warm.</p><p>“Crap, they’re almost here, let me just—” He gathers the pile of abandoned clothes into his arms and hurries over to toss them into his bedroom, joining the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of his bed. Wooyoung then glances around the rest of the apartment, looking for anything else that might betray the fact that there was a demon hanging out at his place. The small dark bloodstain on the carpet catches his eye, and Wooyoung drops a textbook on top of it, hoping that Seonghwa will be too distracted by kitten-San to tidy up.</p><p>San watches him from the couch, silver-gray eyes gleaming, the end of his tail curling gracefully up and down, up and down. Wooyoung suspects that San would be laughing at him, if he weren’t a cat, so Wooyoung makes a face at him as he grabs San’s water glass off of the coffee table, dumping it into the sink so Seonghwa doesn’t wonder why Wooyoung was drinking water from two glasses at once. San purrs louder, his eyes closing into pleased little crescents, reminiscent of his human smile, and Wooyoung can’t help but grin. </p><p>“Be good,” he says, leveling a finger at the kitten perched on his couch. “No demon-y stuff, please, okay? I don’t want to freak them out.”</p><p>There’s a knock at the door, and Wooyoung scurries over to open it.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, a bit out of breath, stepping back to let Seonghwa and Hongjoong come inside, their cheeks and noses red above tightly wound scarves.</p><p>“Hi,” Seonghwa says, peeling off his coat and gloves. “How’s my kitten?”</p><p>“<em>Our </em> kitten is on the couch,” Wooyoung says as he takes Seonghwa’s coat, his heart skittering slightly, hoping that San doesn’t mind the joke. </p><p>“Thanks for letting us come over,” Hongjoong says, handing his coat to Wooyoung, too, who hangs them both up in the closet by the door. “He kept agonizing all day over whether you’d find it annoying if he kept texting you to check in on the cat.”</p><p>“Have you given him a name yet?” Seonghwa is already in the living room, boots kicked off by the door. His eyes shine as he approaches San, who is curled up on the far couch cushion, looking for all intents and purposes like a shy, nervous kitten, ears swiveled back, tail twitching, wide eyes fixed on Seonghwa.</p><p>“Uh… I’ve been calling him San,” Wooyoung says.</p><p>Seonghwa glances back at him. “‘Mountain’?” he says, and then smiles, crouching down beside the kitten, offering the knuckles of his right hand for San to sniff. “That’s a strong name for such a small kitty.” San bumps his nose against Seonghwa’s knuckles, tentatively, seeming to test him out, and then his ears perk up, and he lets Seonghwa pet him, his back arching as Seonghwa runs his fingers over his coat from head to tail. “He seems to be in much better spirits than he was yesterday. Did he not like his bandages?”</p><p>“What?” Wooyoung says, his heart skipping.</p><p>“His leg isn’t bandaged anymore,” Seonghwa says, and sure enough, San’s front right leg is entirely free of the neat bandage job Seonghwa did the night before; Wooyoung’s own attempt at nursemaiding must have slipped off with the rest of San’s clothes when San transformed.</p><p>“Oh,” Wooyoung says, grappling for a believable lie. “Um, yeah, he kept biting at them this morning, so I took them off. He hasn’t really seemed to be licking at the injury or anything, so I figured it was fine?”</p><p>“Hm,” Seonghwa says.</p><p>“He wishes you would’ve asked him first,” Hongjoong says in a stage whisper to Wooyoung as he toes off his own boots.</p><p>“No, it’s probably fine,” Seonghwa says. “Will he let me hold him? I’d like to get a better look at that leg.”</p><p>“Um…” Panicking slightly, Wooyoung glances at San, who is still preening for Seonghwa’s attention. San fixes Wooyoung with a brief, meaningful look, and then butts his head against Seonghwa’s hand, his tail lazily swiping the air in apparent contentment. “Yes?” Wooyoung says, more a question than an answer, but San doesn’t immediately hiss at his decision, so he figures it’s fine. “I don’t think he minds being held.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Seonghwa coos, and then gently scoops San into his arms, cradling him close to his chest like a baby. San lets out a small mewl of token protest, but he doesn’t fight, letting Seonghwa stretch out his right forepaw to get a look at his injury.</p><p>“Have you gotten anything done today, or have you just been playing with San?” Hongjoong asks, and the question—worded so casually, and with Wooyoung still automatically picturing ‘San’ as an ethereally beautiful demon—makes Wooyoung flush.</p><p>“I managed to do some homework while he was sleeping,” Wooyoung says, and it’s just a little white lie, but he still feels bad for lying to Hongjoong and Seonghwa; he’s never liked being dishonest with his friends.</p><p>“It doesn’t look like the wound is infected, so that’s good,” Seonghwa says from the living room. “And it seems to have healed really well; I can barely even see any scabbing. I was a little worried last night when it was still bleeding.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s stomach flips as he remembers San’s voice from earlier that evening, describing the anticoagulant properties of the poison in his system: <em> I was too weak to even properly stop the bleeding. </em></p><p>“Yeah, I was really happy to see that it stopped,” Wooyoung says, and it’s the first full truth he’s told since Seonghwa and Hongjoong arrived. “He’s been a lot better today.”</p><p>“Have you thought about putting up posters or anything yet?” Hongjoong says. “Do people still do that for lost pets? Or is everything online now?”</p><p>“Go sit down before you hurt yourself, grandpa,” Seonghwa says, but his voice is fond. He tickles San’s fuzzy cheeks, and Wooyoung can hear San purring from here. <em> Shameless</em>, Wooyoung thinks, pressing his lips together as he tries not to smile. “Posters are still fine, I think. I’ll help you out early next week, Wooyoung-ah, if that’s okay. I have a shift tomorrow.”</p><p>“Sure, that’d be great,” Wooyoung says, knowing that the posters will be entirely pointless. “You guys want something warm to drink, now that you’ve checked on San? We can finish <em> Thor</em>.”</p><p>They all end up settled on the couch, Seonghwa and Wooyoung with steaming mugs of tea, Hongjoong with coffee. San curls into a content little ball in Seonghwa’s lap, purring fit to bring the entire building down. Wooyoung keeps shooting him little glares, trying not to be jealous of the way San’s face is smushed into Seonghwa’s sweater or the way Seonghwa’s hand rests comfortably on San’s back, fingers rubbing lightly just behind San’s ears.</p><p>Seonghwa and Hongjoong stay for the rest of the first <em> Thor </em> movie and the first half of the second, and then Hongjoong, unsurprisingly, falls asleep, and Seonghwa decides it’s probably time for them to go.</p><p>“I don’t want to disturb him,” Seonghwa says with a pout, and Wooyoung giggles when he realizes that he’s talking about the kitten curled up in his lap and not his passed out boyfriend.</p><p>“Here, I’ll take him so he doesn’t get too sad,” Wooyoung says, standing. He leans over Hongjoong’s snoozing form and gingerly scoops up San in both hands, warmth fluttering in his stomach at the soft, sleepy chirp San lets out when he feels himself being moved. Wooyoung cradles San gently to his chest, soothing him with pets as San blinks his bleary way awake, silver-gray eyes heavy-lidded, little claws hooking into Wooyoung’s sweatshirt. He’s warm and still purring lightly, and Wooyoung’s heart gives a little flutter.</p><p>“Hongjoong, let’s go,” Seonghwa says, jostling Hongjoong’s shoulder. “You can sleep at home. Give Wooyoung his couch back.”</p><p>“I was awake,” Hongjoong mumbles, sitting up, and Seonghwa sighs.</p><p>“Thanks for having us, Wooyoung-ah,” he says, getting to his feet and reaching down to help his boyfriend do the same. Seonghwa gives San some parting tickles as he passes by, and San’s eyes slide closed, blissfully. “Bye, my sweet boy,” Seonghwa coos to the kitten, and then pats Wooyoung’s hair with a grin, saying, “Goodnight, my other sweet boy.”</p><p>Wooyoung swats at Seonghwa’s hand, unable to hold back a smile. “Get Hongjoong-hyung home safe,” he says.</p><p>“I’ll do my best.”</p><p>Wooyoung sees them out with San still cuddled to his chest. He locks the door behind them, and then turns his attention to the cat in his arms, who looks to be asleep again.</p><p>“... San?” Wooyoung whispers, rubbing a thumb over a fuzzy cheek. “They’re gone. You don’t have to be a kitten anymore.”</p><p>One silvery eye pries open, and then San shifts in Wooyoung’s arms, arching into as much of a stretch as he can manage while still cradled to Wooyoung’s chest.</p><p>“Sorry.” Wooyoung sets San down on the ground near his feet, and then heads for his room, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna get you some clothes.”</p><p>By the time Wooyoung emerges from his room with clean sweatpants, some underwear, and a cozy hoodie in his arms, San has transformed back into his human form, dark hair soft and tousled, silvery eyes sleepy, and entirely naked.</p><p>Wooyoung averts his eyes quickly, having already expected this. He holds the clothes out in front of him.</p><p>“Here,” he says. “You can borrow these for the night.”</p><p>“Thank you.” San’s voice is a bit hoarse. Wooyoung wonders vaguely whether it’s from all the purring. He feels the clothes get lifted from his arms, and he decides to busy himself with cleaning up the mugs in the living room and turning off the television while San gets dressed. Wooyoung is just putting the mugs in the sink when he remembers something, turning back to San.</p><p>“Wait,” he says. “Let me see your arm.”</p><p>San pauses in the act of tugging the sweatshirt over his head. Wooyoung feels pinned by that silver gaze for a moment, a rabbit making eye contact with a wolf, and then San finishes putting on the sweatshirt and releases Wooyoung from his gaze. San tugs the right sleeve of the sweatshirt up to his elbow, revealing his forearm.</p><p>“Whoa,” Wooyoung breathes, stepping into San’s space, his eyes wide and fixed on San’s arm. The wound, which just that morning was dark and deep and oozing, is now only a jagged scar, pink and raw, but firmly closed. Wooyoung reaches out and catches San’s wrist in one hand, tugging him closer. His other hand hovers just over the scar, fingers trembling.</p><p>“Can I—?” Wooyoung glances up at San, and finds San watching him curiously. Wooyoung swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. “May I feel it?” he asks, voice hushed.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Wooyoung lets his fingers brush against the scar, and he marvels at how cool the new skin feels, soft and smooth, almost silken. </p><p>“Does it still hurt?” Wooyoung asks, tracing the scar reverently.</p><p>“It’s sensitive,” San says, “and a bit itchy, but no. It doesn’t hurt. It should be fully healed by this time tomorrow.”</p><p>“Wow.” Wooyoung follows the scar with his fingertips, from the back of San’s hand to his elbow. He barely realizes how close he’s standing to San, how intimate the touch might seem, until he hears San inhale, a tad shakily. Wooyoung immediately lifts his head, meeting San’s gaze. “Sorry,” he says. “Is this okay?”</p><p>“It's fine,” San says; a faint flush colors his cheekbones. “It just… tickles.”</p><p>“Oh.” Wooyoung releases San’s arm and steps back, his own cheeks heating to match San’s. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” He breaks off, clears his throat. “It’s late. Do you… sleep? When you’re not a cat?”</p><p>San’s lips curl into a smile. “I don’t always need to, but yes. I sleep.”</p><p>“And do you have somewhere to sleep?” Wooyoung asks.</p><p>“I can find a safe place.”</p><p>Wooyoung makes a face at that answer, picturing San curling up outside in the snow somewhere, alone and cold and vulnerable.</p><p>“Why don’t you just crash here?” Wooyoung says, his heart thumping. “It would save you the trouble of needing to find somewhere.”</p><p>“Do you want me to stay, Wooyoung-ah?” San says. He is touching his right arm absently, his fingers tracing the same patterns Wooyoung’s did. Wooyoung’s eyes follow San’s fingers, and then he meets San’s gaze. Silver eyes betray nothing, and Wooyoung lets out a low breath. He knows that if he tells San he wants to be alone tonight, then San will disappear the same way he did earlier that day, finding some secret place to hole up and rest, and Wooyoung will sleep on his own, and might not see San again until the next time Wooyoung decides to summon him.</p><p>That would be the logical, reasonable decision to make. Wooyoung still barely knows this demon, after all, despite the fact that they’ve already slept in the same bed for a night, and have now shared two meals together, and are—according to San’s pledge of eternal protection—apparently bonded for life. So the <em> reasonable </em> thing to do would be to get some space, to have some time to think, to not be distracted all night by the demon sleeping in Wooyoung’s apartment.</p><p>But Wooyoung isn’t always known to be very reasonable, and the idea of San sleeping alone only one night after he was almost killed doesn’t sit right in Wooyoung’s gut, so instead he stares at the beautiful demon standing in his kitchen, offering to spend the night with him (in what Wooyoung can only assume is an entirely platonic way), and he makes a very unreasonable decision. </p><p>“Yes,” he says, and San smiles at him, softly.</p><p>“Then I will stay.”</p><p>*</p><p>They end up lying side by side in Wooyoung’s queen bed, because Wooyoung refused to let San just sleep on the couch (<em>“It’s not long enough, you’ll be sore in the morning,” he insisted, and San laughed at him and did not fight </em>).</p><p>Wooyoung stares up at the dark ceiling, listening to the muffled night noises of the city, the low hum of his heater, the soft breaths coming from beside him. He turns his head and finds San’s dark silhouette in the darkness. San is lying on his side facing Wooyoung, his eyes closed, his mouth slack and slightly open. Wooyoung can tell by his deep, even breaths that he is already asleep, so Wooyoung feels slightly less guilty for staring.</p><p>But only slightly.</p><p>It’s hard not to, though. Even in darkness, San’s beauty is impossible to miss. Dark hair falls softly over his eyes. Dim, silvery light from the window behind him limns sculpted cheekbones, a sharp jawline, wide shoulders still clad in Wooyoung’s sweatshirt. Wooyoung is terribly tempted to reach out and touch, to trace soft skin and brush fingers through dark hair, to see if it’s really as soft as it looks. But Wooyoung knows that wouldn’t be appropriate, and he doesn’t want to accidentally wake San when it seems like the demon—despite insisting that he didn’t <em> need </em> to sleep—really could use the rest. Wooyoung recalls just how deeply San slept as a kitten in Seonghwa’s lap, too, and he wonders whether demons might need more sleep after they’ve healed themselves. Healing a raw gash to a brand new scar over the course of twelve hours has to be exhausting, even for a demon with so-called “Houdini magic.”</p><p>Wooyoung sighs and closes his eyes, determined to fall asleep despite the unfairly handsome demon in his bed. He must doze for a bit, at least, because the next thing he knows, a warm arm is curling over his torso, and Wooyoung finds himself being thoroughly, sleepily cuddled.</p><p>“... San?” Wooyoung whispers, reluctant to move or speak too loudly, for fear of startling San, but there’s no response. San’s head is pressed against Wooyoung’s shoulder, his arm curled securely around Wooyoung’s chest, and Wooyoung—as blearily half-awake as he is—becomes a bit concerned that his racing heart will wake the demon, even if his voice doesn’t. Tentatively, carefully, Wooyoung shifts his left arm so that it’s no longer trapped between his body and San’s, and instead wraps it gently, tentatively, around San’s slim waist. San makes a quiet sound against Wooyoung’s shoulder, making Wooyoung’s heart stutter, but he doesn’t wake, and Wooyoung assumes he’s safe.</p><p>“Okay,” he breathes, barely audible. “Okay. Okay.” His stomach feels like it’s full of fireflies, warm and fluttering, and he lets out a tremulous breath, closing his eyes again. San is a heavy weight against his side, impossible to ignore, but Wooyoung forces himself to breathe, to relax, to not overthink. So the demon is a cuddler? That’s fine. Wooyoung fell asleep cuddled with him last night, too, just… when he was much smaller. And fuzzier. And Wooyoung didn’t know that he was anything more than a tiny black kitten.</p><p>“Okay,” Wooyoung whispers again, squeezing San’s waist again. <em> He’s a cat</em>, he tells himself, even as he turns his head and feels soft dark hair brush against his chin. <em> He’s a cat. He’s a cat. Just keep telling yourself that he’s a cat. </em></p><p>Wooyoung repeats it like a mantra in his head, letting his eyes close, taking deep breaths, willing his heart rate to slow. </p><p><em> He’s a cat</em>, he thinks, as he shifts slightly, settling into a more comfortable position, curling ever so slightly towards San.</p><p><em> He’s a cat</em>, he thinks, as his mind starts to drift, lulled to sleep by soft breaths and a warm embrace.</p><p><em> He’s a cat</em>, he thinks, and eventually, he sleeps.</p><p>*</p><p>Wooyoung wakes to a flurry of movement and the rustle of thousands of feathers. He flails, startled, and opens his mouth to cry out in surprise, but a firm hand clamps down on his mouth, and a heavy weight pins him to the bed, and then everything goes still, but for the settling of feathers all around him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” whispers San, because of course it’s San pinning him down, and Wooyoung realizes that they’re entirely enclosed by San’s mantled wings, dark feathers hiding them away from the rest of the room. “I need you to be quiet, please.”</p><p>“Why?” Wooyoung tries to say, but it comes out muffled against San’s palm.</p><p>San flicks a glance down at Wooyoung, silver eyes flashing. His jaw is set, his brow dark with worry.</p><p>“Someone is here,” he murmurs, and then goes silent again, still pinning Wooyoung down, clearly listening to something that Wooyoung cannot hear.</p><p>Wooyoung listens hard, but his heart is too loud in his ears, and the feathers all around them keep shifting slightly, blocking him from the rest of the room, a constant soft rustle that prevents Wooyoung from catching any sounds from his apartment.</p><p>“Who’s here?” Wooyoung tries again, still muffled, and San squeezes his cheeks warningly, looking a bit exasperated beneath the concern on his face.</p><p>“Wait,” San says, barely audible, and then he goes tense, his head snapping up, turned towards the door. Wooyoung freezes; he hears the sound of the door knob turning, the door swinging open. Wooyoung actually finds himself rather surprised by how gently the door opens, based on how nervous San seems above him. Wouldn’t an attacker slam their way into the room, barging in guns blazing, ready to wreak havoc?</p><p>Instead, it’s quiet, and San’s face has gone pale, his silver eyes wide. His hand on Wooyoung’s mouth goes loose, and Wooyoung wrenches his face away with a gasp that is probably more dramatic than it needs to be.</p><p>“Who is it?” he hisses, at this point barely caring whether the intruder hears him, because apparently the intruder isn’t going to immediately attack them, which seems like a good sign.</p><p>San shifts back onto his haunches so that he’s only straddling Wooyoung’s waist, no longer fully pinning him down. His eyes never leave the door. His wings slump, freeing Wooyoung from his makeshift shelter, and Wooyoung scoots backwards, sitting up in bed so he can see past San’s wings to his bedroom door.</p><p>His heart leaps into his throat.</p><p>A tall man stands in the doorway, but he is very clearly not human. His eyes gleam golden in the early morning light, and three sets of white, opalescent wings are folded neatly behind him, glowing like stars, so long that the feathers trail on the floor. His hair is a soft, peachy gold, and he is clad all in blinding white but for a delicate golden collar locked around his throat. His face looks kind, and his eyes look sad, fixed on San.</p><p>Wooyoung, mouth agape, finally wrenches his gaze away from the man standing in the doorway to look at San. San looks exhausted, his shoulders sagging, his wings drooping against the bedspread, eyes shining. </p><p>“San-ah,” says the tall man. His voice is low, melodious. Wooyoung’s entire body sings with it, and he finds himself shuddering. San still doesn’t look at Wooyoung, but he curls his fingers around one of Wooyoung’s wrists, protectively, like an anchor. </p><p>“Hello, Yunho,” San says, softly.</p><p>The tall man inclines his head. His eyes meet Wooyoung’s once, briefly, and Wooyoung gasps, his skin suddenly alight with a tingling, numbing sensation, searing, like he just stepped into a super nova. A hand claps gently over his eyes, and Wooyoung hears San sigh.</p><p>“We need to talk,” says the tall man; Wooyoung shivers again, now gasping for breath. He feels small, overwhelmed, <em> electric</em>, his body struggling to comprehend sensations he’s never encountered before, and then— </p><p>“Not here,” says San. Wooyoung feels San shift above him, and then the hand over his eyes moves, replaced by two hands gently cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing over Wooyoung’s closed eyes. “Go back to sleep, Wooyoung-ah,” San whispers, his voice oddly echoey, dark and cool and soothing, lips soft as butterfly wings against Wooyoung’s forehead, and Wooyoung feels sleep wrapping around him like a warm blanket, pulling him down, as San’s weight leaves him, and a soft hand runs through his hair, and then he finds himself sinking, alone, back into oblivion.</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pats poor mortal wooyoung</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Attack</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wooyoung wakes up annoyed.</p>
<p>At first he can’t recall <em>why</em> he’s annoyed, because he feels well rested, and cozy beneath his blankets, and he somehow knows that it’s Sunday, so he doesn’t even have to deal with work or classes, but he knows—he <em>knows</em>—that he is irritated by <em>something</em>, and it’s something <em>big</em>.</p>
<p>He scowls up at his ceiling for a few moments, trying to recall whether it was a dream that annoyed him, or something from the day before, or— </p>
<p>Wooyoung lurches upright with a gasp, his heart suddenly racing, as he remembers a glowing, golden being standing in the doorway of his bedroom and cool lips brushing against his forehead, whispering for him to sleep— </p>
<p>“SAN!” Wooyoung throws off the covers and scrambles out of bed, racing for his bedroom door, and as soon as he wrenches it open, he freezes.</p>
<p>San is sitting on Wooyoung’s couch, his hands clasped in his lap, eyes downcast. His wings are gone again, and he looks strangely small, hands just barely peaking out of the cuffs of his borrowed sweatshirt, his shoulders hunched. He looks up as soon as Wooyoung steps into the room, silvery eyes wary.</p>
<p>“What the hell was that?” Wooyoung blurts, throwing his hands into the air.</p>
<p>“You’re angry with me,” San says, carefully.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I am!” Wooyoung says. “There was a stranger in my apartment, and instead of telling me what the hell was going on, you just—you put me to <em>sleep</em>?”</p>
<p>San looks pained. “Wooyoung…” </p>
<p>“You can’t just… just <em>magic</em> me like that, okay? It’s weird, and if someone’s invaded my home, then I think I should at least be kept in the loop on it. You could’ve just—”</p>
<p>“I did it to protect you,” San says, his voice low, insistent. “You remember how you fainted when you first laid eyes on my true form yesterday?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung fidgets, a bit thrown from his rant by San’s apparent distress. “... Yeah.”</p>
<p>“It would have been worse if you’d looked upon Yunho this morning,” San says. “He’s an archangel. Mortals aren’t meant to perceive him, not when he’s in that form. Wooyoung, you could have died.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s heart skips a beat, unease prickling over his skin.</p>
<p>“Oh,” he says, his righteous irritation deflating. “Well… why was he here, then? And in a form that could’ve killed me?” A sudden flare of panic makes him add, “Is he <em>still</em> here?”</p>
<p>“No, he’s gone. And believe me, I had words with him about showing up here like that.” San leans forward, dropping his head into his hands, his fingers curling into his dark hair. He looks weary, almost human. Wooyoung takes a hesitant step forward, struck by the sudden urge to comfort, but he pauses about halfway across the room, unsure whether that would be welcome. “We spoke,” San says, “and then I told him to leave. I didn’t want him to still be here when you awoke.” </p>
<p>“What did he want?”</p>
<p>“To give me a warning.” San’s voice is almost a whisper. He curls in on himself, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. </p>
<p>“What?” Wooyoung finally steps forward until he’s crouching beside San, giving into the temptation to touch; he places a hand on San’s knee and squeezes. “Did he threaten you?”</p>
<p>“No.” San places a hand over Wooyoung’s. “Nothing like that. He was warning me that I’m in danger, that I’m still—” San breaks off with a sigh, finally raising his head to meet Wooyoung’s gaze. His eyes are shining, overbright. “I can’t stay here anymore, Wooyoung-ah,” he whispers.</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s heart sinks.</p>
<p>“O-oh?” he says; his voice sounds small, even to his own ears. “Why not?”</p>
<p>“I’m still being hunted,” San says. “If I stay here, I’ll only endanger you.” He smiles sadly and shifts his hand so that he is holding Wooyoung’s, palms pressed together and fingers linked. “I swore to you that I would do the opposite of that, and I intend to keep that promise.”</p>
<p>“It’ll probably be harder to keep me safe if you’re not actually here,” Wooyoung grumbles, and San’s smile widens, making Wooyoung’s heart twist.</p>
<p>“I’ll do my best,” San says, quietly.</p>
<p>Wooyoung looks at their intertwined fingers. San’s nails are short and neat, his hand somehow just as lovely as the rest of him, and Wooyoung can’t help but stare at his own scabbed cuticles, stress-bitten while preparing for finals over the past couple of weeks.</p>
<p>“When do you have to leave?” Wooyoung says. This isn’t the way he pictured this day going (<em>he waves a sad farewell to fleeting images of a cozy brunch and more answered questions and perhaps a continued movie marathon</em>), and he can’t quite keep the dismay from his voice.</p>
<p>“Now would be best.” San’s thumb rubs gently over Wooyoung’s knuckle. “Yunho is waiting, but I didn’t want to leave without telling you first.”</p>
<p>“... Oh. Okay. Thank you.” Wooyoung finally meets San’s eye again, and his breath catches in his throat at the fondness in San’s gaze.</p>
<p>“Wooyoung-ah,” San says, leaning forward and catching Wooyoung’s chin in his other hand; Wooyoung’s heart stutters. “Please don’t look so sad. This is not a goodbye. Remember: Three times, and I will find you.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung nods, breathless and wide-eyed, and San leans forward to press a tender kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead.</p>
<p>“Be safe,” San whispers, and then he’s gone, leaving Wooyoung stunned and alone on his living room floor, his forehead still tingling slightly from San’s lips.</p>
<p>“You too,” he whispers into the empty air, hoping that maybe San will hear him, but silence is his only response.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Wooyoung spends the rest of his Sunday in a daze. He finishes his homework, with questionable quality. He watches some old reruns of a nature documentary. He scarfs down a bowl of ramen, once he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything by the time the sun starts going down.</p>
<p>It’s only after the sun has set, when Wooyoung is sitting on his couch, staring at his television screen without really watching it, that he finally gets to his feet, grabs some stain remover and a small washcloth from the cabinet, and kneels down to scrub at the dark bloodstain on his carpet. It comes out easily enough, and after it’s gone, replaced by a slightly damp spot that is now notably whiter than the rest of Wooyoung’s living room carpet, Wooyoung feels… worse, somehow. He thought he would feel lighter after getting rid of the last remaining visible evidence of San’s presence, but somehow he just feels empty, staring at the spot where the stain used to be. Wooyoung glances at the dark smudge of old blood on the washcloth in his hand, and then, frustrated, gets to his feet and tosses both the cloth and the stain remover into the sink.</p>
<p>He stands in his dark kitchen for a moment, aimless, breathing a bit hard, and then he stomps over to his refrigerator, yanks the door open, and takes out a can of beer. He cracks it open one-handed and pounds a good third of it in a single swig.</p>
<p>“Stupid,” Wooyoung grumbles when he pauses his chugging, swiping the back of his hand over his lips, and he’s not sure whether the word is aimed at himself or at San.</p>
<p>Why would San promise to protect Wooyoung if he was already stretched thin trying to protect himself? Why would he swear his life to Wooyoung when he was still being hunted so avidly that a freaking <em>archangel</em> felt the need to pay a (potentially deadly) visit to Wooyoung’s tiny college apartment, just to inform San that he was still in grave danger?</p>
<p>Wooyoung tries not to think too much about San being in danger. He shoves away the image of San bleeding out into the snow, the sound of San’s tiny kitten cries as Seonghwa disinfected his wound, the sight of that deep gash on his arm, livid red and aching. He shoves away the image of San getting cornered again, attacked when he still hasn’t fully healed, savaged by faceless, shapeless beings with razor sharp claws dripping poison and far too many eyes.</p>
<p>(Wooyoung also shoves away the memory of a warm, silvery gaze meeting his own, and the sensation of soft lips against his forehead, and a warm, sleepy body pressed against his side, but that’s more for his own sanity than a need to avoid any kind of overwhelming concern.)</p>
<p>Wooyoung takes another swig of beer and heads back into the living room. He snags his phone off the coffee table and unlocks it, fingers automatically going for a familiar number.</p>
<p>Mingi answers after four rings.</p>
<p>“‘Sup?” Mingi mumbles, sounding bleary, like he just woke up from a nap.</p>
<p>“Let’s go drinking,” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>Silence on the other end of the line, and then: “It’s past 10 on a Sunday night and, like, negative eight degrees out.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>More silence, and then: “Gimme fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you outside your building.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“So what, did you get dumped or something?” </p>
<p>It’s Mingi’s first question once they’re settled into a booth at their usual campus bar, two full beers on the table in front of them, surrounded by the low, rumbling murmur of a quiet Sunday night crowd.</p>
<p>“No,” Wooyoung grumbles, tracing a finger over the chilly rim of his glass, “nothing so dramatic. Just had a shit day, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Mingi fixes him with a narrow look as he takes a drink of his beer. “You sure? Because this is usually what you do when you get dumped.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t dated anyone in months,” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but last year we sat right here on a Monday night and you drank yourself silly after Gahyeon told you she’d rather be friends, so.” Mingi shrugs. “I assume we’re dealing with the same shit.”</p>
<p>“We <em>are</em> better off as friends,” Wooyoung says, glaring, “and that was a perfectly amicable breakup, thank you very much, so I did <em>not</em> drink myself silly—”</p>
<p>“Seonghwa-hyung’s vomit-covered shoes would like to differ,” Mingi mutters, mostly into his beer.</p>
<p>“—and even if I <em>did</em>,” Wooyoung continues, raising his voice to be heard over his best friend, “this isn’t the same situation. I haven’t even been dating anybody, so how could I get dumped?”</p>
<p>“Hm,” Mingi says again. “Okay, fair. One night stand gone sour, then?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung flushes; that sounds a bit too close to home, oddly enough, so he distracts himself by taking a long swig of beer, savoring the way he’s already starting to feel a bit tingly. </p>
<p>“I don’t do one night stands,” he mumbles, setting his glass down with a thud.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong, then?” Mingi says.</p>
<p>“Can’t I just want to drink with a friend on a Sunday night?” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>“Not really, no.” </p>
<p>Wooyoung makes a face, knowing that Mingi is too good of a friend to let it go until he gets an explanation, curse him. Wooyoung takes a long draught of beer, eyeing Mingi over the rim of his glass, trying to formulate a believable lie since he can’t exactly tell Mingi that he’s grumpy about being abandoned by a handsome demon halfway through what might have been a weirdly nice domestic weekend.</p>
<p>“Fine.” Wooyoung lets out a dramatic sigh, just so Mingi knows how annoyed he is. “I’m, uh… failing one of my classes.”</p>
<p>Mingi’s brow furrows. “Shit,” he says. “Which one?”</p>
<p>“... Physics?” Wooyoung says, recalling the last of the homework he completed that afternoon.</p>
<p>“Do you need help?” Mingi says. “I got full marks in physics last semester. I could tutor you or something.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Wooyoung says. “For now, I’d rather just drink my sorrows away, if that’s all right.”</p>
<p>Mingi lifts his glass and clinks it against Wooyoung’s. “Good by me, my dude.”</p>
<p>They drink for a little while longer while making small talk about their classes and mutual friends, and Wooyoung finds himself loosening up as the liquor starts to sink in, growing warm in the dim light of the bar. By the time their third round comes to the table, his cheeks are flushed and he’s starting to slur and Mingi’s laughter has become loud and clear, and Wooyoung finds himself slumped against Mingi’s shoulder, giggling as he rambles.</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m hot, right?” Wooyoung finds himself saying, flapping a hand in the air to indicate his entire being.</p>
<p>“On your good days, yeah.” Wooyoung whacks Mingi in the stomach, making him laugh. “Fine, okay, yeah, you’re hot. Why?”</p>
<p>“So like, even hot people could be interested in me, right?” </p>
<p>“Why, you got your eye on someone hot?” Mingi presses a hand to his choice, feigning solemnity. “Wooyoung… are you coming onto me?”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>, oh my god, look, I just—” Wooyoung breaks off, taking a moment to swig his drink. “If a hot person were to run into me, coincidentally, and I started to maybe flirt a little bit, coincidentally, then like… they might think I’m cute, right?” </p>
<p>“Coincidentally?” Mingi says, grinning.</p>
<p>Wooyoung knows that Mingi is more sober than he is right now and is almost definitely making fun of him, but Wooyoung feels warm and fuzzy and damn if he doesn’t love Mingi, so he just jabs a finger into Mingi’s ribs and whines, “I’m actually kinda serious here, Mingi-ya.”</p>
<p>Mingi narrows his eyes at Wooyoung. “You sure you didn’t get dumped this weekend?” </p>
<p>“Please just answer the question,” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>“Then yes, a hot person could coincidentally think that you’re cute,” Mingi says. He takes a sip of his beer, his eyes unfairly sharp as they meet Wooyoung’s, and then he reaches out and presses the back of his hand to Wooyoung’s forehead. </p>
<p>Wooyoung stares at him. “What’re you doing?”</p>
<p>“Checking to see if you’re sick,” Mingi says. “Usually you’re irritatingly confident in how hot you are, so something has to be seriously wrong if you’re doubting your own hotness.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung bats away Mingi’s hand. “I’m just having a weird weekend, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>Mingi takes another big gulp of beer and then checks his phone. “It’s late, man. I’m getting you home before your weekend becomes any weirder, okay? You have class tomorrow morning.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah.” Wooyoung slugs down as much of his last beer as he can while Mingi puts his jacket on, but he doesn’t manage to finish before Mingi carefully takes the still half-full glass from him and sets it on the sticky table.</p>
<p>“Let’s go, drunky,” Mingi says, helping Wooyoung out of the booth and into his puffy jacket and scarf. He then jams a beanie over Wooyoung’s head.</p>
<p>“Ya!” Wooyoung’s hands go to his head immediately. “My hair!” </p>
<p>“No one’s gonna see it,” Mingi says, taking Wooyoung by the elbow and walking him out of the bar. “You’re just going home.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but I might—” Wooyoung breaks off with a flush just as they step outside into the cold. He knows where his stupid mouth was going, flying far ahead of his mind, but he can’t very well admit to Mingi that he was drunkenly considering summoning a certain demon back to his apartment for another night of snuggles.</p>
<p>Mingi fixes him with a suspicious look. “You might what?”</p>
<p>“I might run into someone hot on the way home,” Wooyoung says, which is a rather slick recovery, if he does say so himself, but Mingi still eyes him skeptically before he slings a comfortable arm over Wooyoung’s shoulders and starts guiding Wooyoung down the sidewalk.</p>
<p>“You know what’s hot?” Mingi says. “Not having frostbitten ears. Now c’mon. It’s freezing.”</p>
<p>They make it back to Wooyoung’s apartment building without incident, and Mingi watches Wooyoung stumble his way up to the front door, because he’s overprotective and mostly sober and also a good friend, damn him. Wooyoung turns back to wave at Mingi when he unlocks the front door of the apartment building, but just as Mingi waves back, turning away to head for his own place, Wooyoung sees something move in the shadows of the dark children’s park across the street. </p>
<p>Wooyoung freezes immediately, eyes wide. He watches Mingi’s retreating back with bated breath, his heart in his throat, half-expecting something shadowy and dangerous to leap from the darkness and latch onto Mingi, but Mingi turns a corner beneath a streetlamp, passing another bundled group of college students, and disappears from Wooyoung’s sight, still seemingly safe.</p>
<p>Wooyoung brings his focus back to the children’s park, covered in snow and entirely abandoned. The swingset casts eerie shadows across the ground, and Wooyoung thinks he sees a shadow shift just below the ladder attached to the jungle gym’s small fort, but after staring for a few more minutes, frozen and abruptly feeling ten times more sober, Wooyoung sees nothing else, and reluctantly blames it on a trick of the light. He slips inside his building and pulls the door closed behind him, making sure that it latches. He spares one last nervous glance for the jungle gym across the way, and then he hurries up to his empty apartment.</p>
<p>Once he’s inside, Wooyoung flips the light on and leans against the door for a moment, breath coming in short gasps after his jog up the steps to his floor. He glances around his apartment, but it’s exactly the way he left it, textbooks lying open on the coffee table, bloodstained rag and carpet cleaner in the kitchen sink. Wooyoung stares at the rag for a moment, heart racing, and then he shrugs out of his winter gear, toes off his boots, and heads into his bedroom, determined to sleep off his nerves and the rest of the beer.</p>
<p>Hopefully daylight will burn away the memory of that shadow moving in the park.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Monday passes dully. </p>
<p>Wooyoung makes it through his morning classes (<em>with a throbbing headache and some emergency aspirin</em>), and even manages a few hours of studying with Hongjoong in the afternoon, who gives him a disapproving look when he sees Wooyoung shuffle into the library with his hood pulled up and sunglasses on, but also buys him an iced coffee, so Wooyoung is willing to forgive him.</p>
<p>Seonghwa has to beg off of making missing-kitten posters due to some extra shifts at the veterinary clinic, so Wooyoung is left with a free evening on Monday, and then again on Tuesday. By the time Wednesday night rolls around, Wooyoung has done little more with his week than watch bad reality television and zombie his way through a few classes, and he’s feeling more than a bit maudlin.</p>
<p>He’s halfway through watching a few inexperienced bakers murder a Victoria sponge cake when he gets a text from Seonghwa, asking him whether he’d like to grab a late night meal. Wooyoung is quick to agree, desperate for any excuse to get out of his lonely apartment, and he hurries to get ready, throwing on jeans and a clean t-shirt. He hesitates just before grabbing the black sweater he wore to class that morning, his eyes catching instead on a messily folded sweatshirt lying on top of his hamper, soft and cozy and gray.</p>
<p>The last person to wear that sweatshirt was San.</p>
<p>Wooyoung stares at the hoodie. He hasn’t washed it yet; he was waiting until his next laundry day, figuring it would be fine until then. He touches it gently, fingers brushing against familiar fabric, and despite the fact that he’s owned this sweatshirt for years, it’s hard for him not to picture San in it now, curled up cozily in Wooyoung’s bed, or sitting anxiously on Wooyoung’s couch, preparing to leave. Wooyoung lifts the sweatshirt from his hamper and holds it to his chest for a moment, then lifts it to his face, taking a deep breath. The fabric smells like his own laundry detergent, like his own apartment, and he feels a small pang of disappointment before he realizes that there’s another scent there, faint and warm and slightly smoky, like a candle that’s just burnt out.</p>
<p>“San,” Wooyoung whispers, barely audible, but he stops there. There’s no need for him to summon the demon, not right now. He’s just being embarrassing.</p>
<p>Even so, despite the way his cheeks burn and his heart thumps in his chest, Wooyoung tugs the sweatshirt on over his head, and then bundles up for his trek out into the cold.</p>
<p>It’s late enough that the streets are mostly empty, and Wooyoung huddles deep into his coat as he steps outside the building, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the chill. He shoots a text off to Seonghwa, saying he’s on his way, and he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket as he gets a response. Wooyoung hurries across the street while there are no cars coming, and then he tugs out his phone, clicking a side button to light up the screen and view Seonghwa’s response.</p>
<p>He’s just about to slip his phone back into his pocket when something closes like a vice around his bicep and yanks him into the children’s park, so forcefully that Wooyoung feels something in his shoulder pop. His phone clatters to the freezing concrete, and before he can even cry out, he finds himself spun around and slammed against the inner brick wall of the park with a rough hand clamped over his mouth, smothering any sound. Panicked, Wooyoung tries to shove away from the wall, scrabbling to get any leverage he can, but whatever is pinning him holds him like a steel trap.</p>
<p>Wooyoung lets out a muffled scream against the freezing hand covering his mouth, desperately hoping that <em>someone</em> might hear him, because surely there’s someone in a nearby building, out on the street, <em>anywhere</em>, but his attacker snarls and shoves Wooyoung against the wall again, cracking Wooyoung’s head so hard against the brick that he sees stars.</p>
<p>It’s only as he’s blinking away the haze from his vision that Wooyoung manages to get a glimpse of his attacker, and his stomach lurches in terror as he lets out a helpless, horrified whimper. The creature holding him—and it can only be described as a creature, the only thing remotely human about it the fact that it seems to be standing on two many-jointed legs—is covered in jagged, pitch black scales, with dozens of spindly-fingered arms protruding from its body, one of which is locked firmly over Wooyoung’s mouth, while others keep him pinned to the wall, impossibly strong. Countless sharp-toothed mouths gape open on the creature’s torso, on its limbs, on its mantis-like head, which looms far too close to Wooyoung’s own, eyeless and grinning. </p>
<p>“<em>You smell like him</em>,” hisses a sibilant voice, low and menacing and giddy and, horrifyingly, coming from a wide, gaping mouth in the middle of the creature’s chest. That mantis-like head twitches closer, and Wooyoung tries desperately to arch away from it, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels hot, rancid breath rustle his hair. He feels the creature’s grip on him tighten, sharp fingers gauging into his cheeks, the arms pinning his chest against the brick wall pressing harder, compressing his lungs.</p>
<p><em>Him</em>, Wooyoung thinks, scrambling to form a coherent thought through the panic, and oh god, it means San, doesn’t it? Is this one of the monsters that attacked San? Why is it <em>here</em>—? </p>
<p>“<em>Look at me</em>,” the voice orders, but Wooyoung refuses, trembling and terrified, clenching his hands at his sides, nails digging painfully into his palms. “<em>Foolish</em>,” the voice continues, raspy and low and <em>wrong</em>. “<em>What is so special about you?</em>” Wooyoung shudders and whimpers again as he feels a sharp claw draw a line down his throat, leaving burning pain and the warm trickle of blood in its wake. “<em>Why do you carry his scent?</em>” More fingers drag razorlike over his skin, slipping beneath his clothes, spidery light and terribly invasive and slicing him slowly open, so sharp that Wooyoung feels the blood before the pain.</p>
<p>Wooyoung forcibly drags in a shivering breath and tries to scream again, but his voice is too muffled, too choked with fear, and the creature slams him against the brick wall again, so hard that Wooyoung can’t hold back a pained cry. Spindly fingers lock like wires around his throat and begin to squeeze, and Wooyoung’s eyes fly open in horror as he starts to choke.</p>
<p>“W-wait—” Wooyoung tries to scream, but it comes out only as a muffled croak, cut off with a gurgle as the creature tightens its grip on his throat, cutting off his breath. Wooyoung struggles, but he is held firm, helpless. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, feels tears he didn’t even know had appeared roll down his cheeks.</p>
<p>The creature leans in close, the mouth on its mantis-like head spread wide in what could almost be a grin, and whispers, terribly, “<em>Will he come for you, I wonder?</em>”</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s heart sinks with dread even as the edges of his vision start to darken.</p>
<p>He’s being used as bait.</p>
<p><em>No</em>, he thinks, wretchedly, as his face grows warm with blood and his limbs start to tingle. <em>No, I didn’t call for him, he can’t know I’m here, he can’t—he won’t— </em></p>
<p>Something bright and far too fast for Wooyoung to see bowls into the creature from the side, knocking it off and away from Wooyoung. Wooyoung slumps to the ground, gasping in a ragged breath and cringing away from the piercing shriek the creature lets out as it slams into the brick wall to Wooyoung’s right, thrown there by whatever attacked it. Wooyoung automatically curls into a defensive posture, his hands going to his tender throat, slippery with blood. Something touches his hair, and he nearly screams again, jerking in panic.</p>
<p>“Wooyoung-ah,” says a soft voice, low and warm and terribly sad, and Wooyoung snaps his head up to see San standing above him, dark wings spread, shadows still curling on his skin, rapidly retreating beneath the sleeves and collar of a simple black button-up. </p>
<p>Wooyoung opens his mouth to say San’s name, but all that comes out is a broken, choked sound, so instead Wooyoung reaches up, grasps San’s wrist, and tugs him down into a fierce hug. San wraps around Wooyoung immediately, strong arms gathering Wooyoung close, wings mantled and rustling. Wooyoung buries his face into San’s shoulder, trembling fit to fall apart.</p>
<p>“Don’t watch,” San whispers, threading his fingers into Wooyoung’s hair, keeping Wooyoung’s face pressed against San’s shoulder. Wooyoung can still hear the terrified shrieks of that creature behind him, followed soon after by a sickening crunch, a gurgling death rattle, and then awful, resounding silence.</p>
<p>“Is—is it done?” Wooyoung’s voice is rough, barely audible. He curls his fingers into the silky fabric of San’s shirt, clinging as tightly as he can.</p>
<p>“Yes.” San’s voice is low, firm. He pets Wooyoung’s hair, and Wooyoung hisses in pain as San’s fingers brush over the tender spot at the back of Wooyoung’s skull where his head hit the brick. San immediately pulls back, holding his hands carefully away from Wooyoung, but Wooyoung shakes his head fiercely, his stomach swooping at the sudden movement.</p>
<p>“No,” he mumbles, and reels San back into his arms. “Please, I need—I need to—”</p>
<p>San wraps his arms around Wooyoung again, one hand gently cupping the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, the other softly rubbing his back.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” San says quietly. “It’s all right. You’re okay. It’s over. It’s dead.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung takes a few moments to just breathe. His throat aches, and he can feel blood congealing on his skin, in his hair. His limbs won’t stop trembling, but he can feel his heart rate starting to slow the longer he is held. He turns his head, burying his face in the warm space where San’s neck meets his shoulder. Feathers brush his hair, rustling, comforting.</p>
<p>Footsteps approach them from behind, and Wooyoung automatically tenses. San’s arms tighten around him, protective.</p>
<p>“How is he?” The voice is low, deep, vaguely familiar.</p>
<p>“In shock,” San says. “Possibly concussed.”</p>
<p>“Poisoned?”</p>
<p>“Not that I can tell.” </p>
<p>“Good. I’ll clean this up, if you’d like to take him back to his home. I’ll keep watch for the night.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” San says, but there’s a bitter undertone to his voice that is gone again as soon as he cranes his neck to look at Wooyoung. “Are you all right to stand, or would you like me to carry you?”</p>
<p>“I—I can stand,” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>San helps Wooyoung to his feet, steadying him as he wobbles, and it’s only then that Wooyoung finally gets a look at his other savior. It’s the archangel from Sunday, clad in a cozy brown sweater and jeans, incongruous with the gleaming white wings protruding from his back. He smiles at Wooyoung, and the expression is kind, golden eyes warm beneath messy blond bangs.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry it took us so long to get here,” the archangel says. He folds his hands behind his back, clearly trying to be subtle, but not before Wooyoung glimpses the dark smears of gore on his skin. “Sani will escort you home, and then I suppose you’ll want to talk.”</p>
<p><em>Sani</em>, Wooyoung’s bleary brain notes, and he feels a strange pang in his chest at the ease with which the archangel uses the nickname. It’s a strange thing to focus on when Wooyoung’s throat feels like it’s been scraped raw and his head won’t stop throbbing.</p>
<p>“Surely that can wait,” San says, frowning at the archangel. “He needs rest, Yunho.”</p>
<p>The archangel—Yunho—sighs, his head tilting. “Right. Humans. Yes, of course he should rest. You’re recovered enough to help him heal?”</p>
<p>“I should be, yes,” San says.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you in the morning, then. In this form.” Yunho’s gaze finds Wooyoung’s again, and even though it’s not nearly as blazing as it was on Sunday, Wooyoung still feels like the archangel is staring straight into his soul. “Get some rest, Jung Wooyoung. We will speak tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“O-okay,” Wooyoung says, his voice a pathetic rasp compared to the low warm rumble of the archangel’s, and then San turns him away from Yunho and the shadowy mass lying on the ground at Yunho’s feet, which Wooyoung has refused to look at ever since it stopped shrieking.</p>
<p>They step out of the children’s park and onto the sidewalk, and it’s like waking up from a nightmare. The night is chilly and calm, the streetlights glowing softly, golden halos against the dark sky. A single car drives by, headlights blinding, exhaust crystallizing in the wintry air. Wooyoung glances at San, a bit surprised that the car didn’t stop to check out the man with wings, but San’s wings are once again nowhere to be seen.</p>
<p>“Are you all right?” San says, eyeing Wooyoung worriedly.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Wooyoung says, and then he jolts, remembering what he was doing right before the attack. “Oh, shit—my phone—”</p>
<p>“Ah.” San glances around, then stoops and comes up immediately with Wooyoung’s cell phone, which is shockingly still working despite its rough fall to the concrete, save for a few hairline cracks along one side of the screen. Wooyoung taps the screen, half-expecting to find panicked calls from Seonghwa, wondering where he is, but then he notices the time stamp on the last message he received: </p>
<p>
  <em>8 minutes ago</em>
</p>
<p>Wooyoung stares at his phone screen, stunned. His hand starts shaking again.</p>
<p>“Eight minutes,” he whispers. It feels impossible. In only eight minutes he was ambushed, assaulted, nearly killed, and then saved, and Seonghwa—blessedly oblivious Seonghwa—won’t even expect him at their usual barbecue restaurant for another five minutes or so, based on how long it normally takes to walk there.</p>
<p>Wooyoung could be dead, and Seonghwa wouldn’t even know to be concerned yet.</p>
<p>“Wooyoung-ah,” San says. He carefully takes Wooyoung’s phone from his hands, which is probably a good thing, considering how much Wooyoung is trembling, and then places his hands on Wooyoung’s shoulders, forcing Wooyoung to look at him. “What do you need?” San says, silvery eyes earnest. “How can I comfort you?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung nearly laughs at the absurdity of that simple question.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he says. “Why don’t we start by going home? And then I’ll need to let Seonghwa know that I’m not feeling up to going out. I don’t—I don’t want him to worry.” Wooyoung’s voice breaks on the last syllable, and San’s brow furrows in concern. He lifts a hand to Wooyoung’s cheek, his thumb gently brushing over Wooyoung’s skin, and then he wraps an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders and helps him across the street.</p>
<p>They reach Wooyoung’s apartment safely. San slides the lock into place as soon as the door closes behind them.</p>
<p>“Here.” San presses Wooyoung’s phone into his hands, then directs him over to the couch, pushing him gently down onto the cushions. “Tell your Seonghwa you aren’t feeling well. I’m going to get you some water.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung swipes his phone open and stares at the happy little heart emoji that Seonghwa sent a mere ten minutes ago.</p>
<p><em>hey hyung</em>, Wooyoung types.<em> sorry for the late notice, but the headache i was fighting off all day just got worse, and i’m gonna try to sleep it off. raincheck—have some beef for me!</em></p>
<p>Wooyoung reads over the lie a couple of times before sending it. He feels bad canceling so last minute, but there’s really nothing to be done. There’s no way he can pretend to be normal with his friends right now. He just hopes that Seonghwa doesn’t decide to go full nursemaid and show up at his apartment in the middle of the night. (It’s happened before.)</p>
<p>Wooyoung is startled from his thoughts by the gentle clack of a glass of water getting set on his coffee table. Wooyoung blinks at it, and then up at San, who is still watching him with a faint furrow in his brow.</p>
<p>“Are you in pain?” San says quietly.</p>
<p>Wooyoung opens his mouth to play it off with his usual <em>I’m fine</em>, but instead what comes out is a small, raspy, “Yes.”</p>
<p>San settles onto the couch beside Wooyoung. His eyes shift to Wooyoung’s neck, where Wooyoung is sure there are bruises blossoming beneath the dried smears of his own blood. San lifts his hands, but he pauses just before making contact with Wooyoung’s skin.</p>
<p>“May I?” he asks, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze, and Wooyoung nods wordlessly.</p>
<p>San gently presses his hands to Wooyoung’s throat and closes his eyes, and then his hands start to grow warm, radiating comforting heat over Wooyoung’s skin. Wooyoung inhales sharply as he feels the swollen ache in his throat gradually fade, chased away by a warm touch. The stinging cuts on his skin fade next, first from his neck, and then from his cheeks, his wrists, his hands. He can breathe again at last, and swallow without cringing, and he’s just about to say something when San pulls away, breathing a bit hard, his hands trembling slightly.</p>
<p>“Almost done,” San says, and then he threads the fingers of one hand into the hair at the back of Wooyoung’s head. San closes his eyes again, and his hand grows warm as he coaxes away the throbbing pain from the back of Wooyoung’s head, taking with it the dizziness, the faint fog curling along the edges of Wooyoung’s vision.</p>
<p>By the time he is done, Wooyoung barely hurts anymore, and San sits back with a sigh, looking a bit pale.</p>
<p>“How do you feel?” San asks.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Wooyoung responds, and this time it’s true. “What about you? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” San smiles at him then, the first time all night, and Wooyoung—still rather shellshocked and now miraculously pain free—can’t help but return it. “Healing isn’t exactly one of my strengths, that’s all.” San grabs the glass of water from the coffee table and hands it to Wooyoung. “Drink. Your body won’t be used to healing that quickly, and it’ll catch up with you. You need water and rest.”</p>
<p>“But I feel fine,” Wooyoung protests. </p>
<p>“Just drink.” </p>
<p>Wooyoung grumbles mostly for show as he drains the water in a few long gulps, San watching him fondly. Wooyoung sets the empty glass on the coffee table once he’s done, and then he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.</p>
<p>“So that… thing,” he says.</p>
<p>“Demon,” San says.</p>
<p>Wooyoung frowns. “I thought you were a demon.”</p>
<p>“I am a seraph,” San says.</p>
<p>“But you said—”</p>
<p>“I said I was technically closer to a demon than an angel, at the moment.” San sighs lightly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “The distinction between angels and demons is based more on alignment than appearance. So a seraph like me could be either demonic or angelic, depending on their allegiance. What you saw, what attacked you… its loyalties lay with other demons, so <em>that</em> was a demon.”</p>
<p>“Wait, so… what makes you more of a demon now?” Wooyoung asks. “Is it because you broke the rules? Because you’re being hunted?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” San’s eyes gleam in the low light, uncanny and beautiful.</p>
<p>“And that thing, that demon… is that what’s hunting you?” Wooyoung clenches his hands into fists in his lap. “Is that what almost killed you?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung stares at San, horror creeping over his skin at the image of San cornered by one of those abominations the same way Wooyoung was, poisoned, bleeding out, alone and gagged and helpless.</p>
<p>“How many of those things are there?” Wooyoung asks, his voice hushed.</p>
<p>San is quiet for a moment, and then he says, just as quiet, “Many.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung suddenly feels exhausted. His shoulders slump, and he lets his head drop into his hands, his fingers clenching in his hair.</p>
<p>“Am I still in danger?” he whispers.</p>
<p>“Not tonight,” San says, and his voice is fierce enough that Wooyoung looks up. “Yunho is keeping watch outside, and I’ll stay the night here with you, if you’ll let me.” </p>
<p>“Yes, please,” Wooyoung says, nodding before San even finishes speaking.</p>
<p>San presses his lips into a tight line, and then reaches out to sweep a hand over Wooyoung’s hair before gently cupping the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, squeezing lightly.</p>
<p>“They will not touch you again,” he says, and it sounds like a vow, so fervent that Wooyoung feels his cheeks heat. “I’m sorry they even found you once. I miscalculated, I didn’t think—” San breaks off, shaking his head. “Never mind. I broke my promise to protect you, and I won’t allow it to happen again. They will not touch you. You have my word.” </p>
<p>“Okay,” Wooyoung whispers, a bit wide-eyed. “I—thank you.”</p>
<p>San pets Wooyoung’s hair for a moment, tenderly, almost thoughtfully, and then he pulls away with another sigh, running a hand through his own dark hair. Wooyoung is briefly distracted by the lovely way the silky strands part beneath San’s fingers before he realizes that San said something to him, and it’s at that point that Wooyoung realizes how tired he’s become.</p>
<p>“Huh?” Wooyoung says, intelligently.</p>
<p>San smiles, a bit sad, still unfairly beautiful. “You need sleep. The healing is catching up with you.” He stands and holds out a hand to Wooyoung. “Let’s get you to bed. You’ll be safe for now.”</p>
<p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter was such a struggle oh my god i'm so sorry</p>
<p>i'm gonna go roll into bed now ✌️💕</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wooyoung is trying not to breathe.</p>
<p>His room is dark, barely lit by the streetlights outside the window. He feels overwarm, buried beneath his thick duvet and an extra blanket, tucked securely against the side of an awake and watchful San. If Wooyoung lifts his chin from where his head rests on San’s chest, he knows he’ll see San still awake, staring out the window, silvery eyes gleaming in the darkness, the same as he was when Wooyoung snuck a peek about an hour ago. </p>
<p>Wooyoung stays very still, pretending to be asleep. San’s arm is curled around him, his fingers tracing mindless patterns over Wooyoung’s side, too soft to truly be ticklish. Wooyoung has one arm slung over San’s waist and his head pillowed on San’s chest, where he can hear San’s heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Wooyoung’s own heart flutters, pleased and a bit overwhelmed at the knowledge that San is here to protect him, staying awake through the night to make sure that Wooyoung can sleep safely.</p>
<p>Not that Wooyoung is getting much sleep with San holding him so snugly, but it’s the thought that counts.</p>
<p>Wooyoung decides to take advantage of being seemingly half-asleep and lets out a low, drowsy hum as he snuggles closer, tightening his arm around San’s slim waist, hugging him closer. San pauses for a moment, apparently a bit surprised by Wooyoung’s sudden shifting, but just as Wooyoung starts to worry that he might have given himself up, the gentle patterns against his side continue, and Wooyoung’s ears grow warm when he feels the soft press of lips in his hair.</p>
<p><em>I’m so screwed</em>, Wooyoung thinks even as he burrows closer, his stomach full of butterflies. He feels a bit ridiculous being so pleased by snuggles when he almost died six hours ago, but he writes it off as a coping mechanism for the shock and decides to just let himself have a smidgen of happiness after a weird few days.</p>
<p>What feels like only a heartbeat later, Wooyoung finds himself blinking away the sun as he blearily stretches himself awake, back arching, soft sleepy noises escaping his throat. </p>
<p>“Did you sleep well?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung freezes, just now realizing that he is still pressed against a warm, solid body. He finds San watching him with a fond smile, silvery eyes warm in the wintry morning light filtering in through the window. Wooyoung feels a blush creep up his neck. He ducks his head, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says, his voice a bit rough. “Did you stay awake all night?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you tired?”</p>
<p>“Not particularly.” Wooyoung can hear the smile in San’s voice, and he looks up at him again, his heart skipping at that beautiful dimpled smile. “Seraph, remember? I don’t require sleep the same way a human does.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Wooyoung forces himself to sit up in bed, despite the terrible temptation to just snuggle back down beneath the blankets and cling to San for the rest of the day. It takes him a moment to remember that it’s Thursday, and with a jolt of panic, he realizes that he has no idea what time it is, which means that he’s probably already missed his morning class. </p>
<p>“Shit,” Wooyoung mutters, scrambling out of bed. He snags his phone from the dresser and is briefly shocked that it still has about a thirteen percent charge, and then he notices that it’s 9:48am.</p>
<p>He definitely missed his first class.</p>
<p>Oddly enough, the confirmation that he’s already far too late to make his physics lab somehow relaxes him, since there’s no need for him to rush into getting ready and sprinting across campus. It’s only after his brain has registered the time that he notices the slew of messages on the screen, many from Seonghwa, almost as many from Mingi, and even a few from Hongjoong. Wooyoung scans the most recent of each of them (<em>please let me know you’re okay</em> from Seonghwa, <em>yubin says ur not in lab is this why ur failing physics</em> from Mingi, and <em>answer my texts you gremlin</em> from Hongjoong) before he locks his phone with a silent apology to his friends, deciding he can deal with his real life later.</p>
<p>When Wooyoung turns back to his bed, he sees San standing near the window, watching Wooyoung carefully.</p>
<p>“Do you need to leave for a class?” San says, frowning slightly. “I’m sorry, I should have woken you. I didn’t think—”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Wooyoung says. “I can miss one class, it’s really not a big deal. I, uh… I assume Yunho wants to talk soon?”</p>
<p>San looks pained. “I’m afraid so.”</p>
<p>“Do you promise to finally tell me everything that’s going on?” Wooyoung asks, his heart kicking nervously.</p>
<p>San is quiet for a moment, and then he says, softly, “I promise.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Wooyoung nods, feeling a bit breathless with anticipation. “Okay, just—give me like ten minutes to not be all morning-y? I’ll meet you in the living room, you can let him in.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung rushes through his morning ablutions, brushing his teeth as quickly as possible, splashing cool water over his face, and tugging his hair back into a neat little half-tail, because it’s annoying otherwise, definitely not because San said he likes it that way.</p>
<p>By the time he steps into his living room, practically vibrating, both San and Yunho are sitting on his couch. They could almost look normal, if not for their eyes, San’s a gleaming silver, Yunho’s a warm gold.</p>
<p>“I hear you want answers, young one,” Yunho says, which Wooyoung finds irritating, considering Yunho <em>looks</em> as though he could be about Wooyoung’s age. The archangel is still wearing the same casual sweater and jeans from the night before, but there is no longer any gore on his hands, only a few simple gold rings.</p>
<p>“I was <em>promised </em>answers,” Wooyoung corrects, heading to the kitchen. “Either of you want coffee?”</p>
<p>“No, thank you,” Yunho says, sounding amused.</p>
<p>“Yes, please,” San says, and Wooyoung smiles at the surprised look Yunho shoots San. Wooyoung sets about pouring water into the coffee maker and grabbing the can of grounds from beneath the counter.</p>
<p>“How much has San told you?” Yunho asks from across the room.</p>
<p>“He’s a seraph,” Wooyoung says. “He broke some rules, and now he’s being hunted by those—those demon things.” Wooyoung’s voice falters as the memory of that creature comes screeching back, the sick sensation of a scaled hand clamped over his mouth, squeezing the breath from his lungs. Wooyoung bites the inside of his cheek, shoving the fear away, and starts the coffee maker.</p>
<p>“Is that all?” Yunho says.</p>
<p>“How much more is there?” Wooyoung asks, frowning at San, who at least looks a bit guilty.</p>
<p>“A bit,” Yunho says with a small smile. “What would you like to know?” </p>
<p>“First of all, how’d you find me so quickly yesterday?” Wooyoung asks, addressing the question to San. “I didn’t summon you. I think that thing—I think it wanted me to, but I knew it would be a trap, so I didn’t—”</p>
<p>“I know.” San smiles at him, soft and rather sad. Wooyoung is starting to wonder why San smiles at him like that so often; he files that away as a potential question for later. “And I appreciate that. But I was already keeping an eye on you. I would’ve been there sooner, if Yunho had let me.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung turns an irritated look Yunho’s way, and Yunho spreads his hands.</p>
<p>“I wanted to see what it wanted from you,” he explains, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “We weren’t going to let it kill you, but now we know that you’re a target for them, even if it is only as bait.”</p>
<p><em>Only as bait</em>… The words aren’t a lie, so there’s no reason they should make Wooyoung flinch, no reason he should feel a pang in his gut. He turns away to grab a couple of mugs for him and San, trying not to think about how he can feel San’s eyes on his back, or how suddenly insignificant he feels, like an extra in the story of his own life.</p>
<p>“Okay, so let’s go back to the beginning, then,” he calls over his shoulder, forcing his voice to be light, confident. He turns back with two mugs in his hands, meeting San’s gaze across the apartment. “What rules did you break?”</p>
<p>San glances down at his hands, and then at Yunho. “I can tell him all of it, right?”</p>
<p>Yunho lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. “At this point, I suppose it can’t hurt.”</p>
<p>San nods slowly, and then looks back at Wooyoung. He looks strangely nervous, and Wooyoung holds up a finger.</p>
<p>“Hang on,” he says, his own nerves starting to quake at the idea of finally getting all of the answers he’s been waiting for. “Coffee first.”</p>
<p>The coffee maker is just gurgling to a finish, and Wooyoung pours two mugs, making sure to only add sugar to San’s (a memory from Saturday, which somehow feels like a lifetime ago), and a bit of cream to his own. He hands San the coffee, and San takes it carefully in both hands.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says, sounding almost timid, and it’s only once Wooyoung has settled into the chair beside the couch that San finally speaks, cradling the steaming coffee mug between his hands. </p>
<p>“About a month ago,” he says, “I was sentenced to three centuries of damnation for interfering with a human life.” San looks at Wooyoung, his silvery eyes gleaming. “Angels—like Yunho, like me—we are watchers. We guard, we guide, but we do not interfere. Human lives are decided. They need to be allowed to run their course.” San pauses, his thumb swiping the rim of his mug. “I… knowingly broke a cardinal rule when I chose to interfere, and so I was to be punished.” He tilts his head. “It was fair. A normal punishment, considering the crime. It was my first transgression, and a few centuries is nothing in the course of a seraph’s life. I was willing to go.” He pauses, glancing at Yunho, who gives a small nod of encouragement. “But… something was wrong. A friend of mine, another seraph whose role it is to mete out discipline like this… he noticed that something was off. My sentencing was never filed, and the demons who came to take me away were unregistered with the Guild. If Jongho hadn’t noticed, if he’d let me be taken by them—” He breaks off, his hands going white-knuckled around his coffee mug.</p>
<p>“Sani would’ve been killed,” Yunho says, his voice grim. He reaches over and squeezes San’s knee; Wooyoung’s eyes are automatically drawn to the contact, his stomach clenching. “Jongho saved his life, and San fled before he could be taken away.” </p>
<p>“But they still came after you,” Wooyoung says quietly. “They still almost killed you, you were—you were hurt when I found you, you almost <em>died</em>—”</p>
<p>“They pursued me, yes,” San says. “But by the time you found me, I’d managed to fight them off and escape as best I could.” He looks over at Wooyoung, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “Clearly still not well enough.”</p>
<p>“Wait, so… you’re not even getting hunted for running away from a normal sentence?” Wooyoung says. “You’re getting hunted because someone literally just wants to kill you?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung stares at San, his heart thumping, and asks, “Why?”</p>
<p>San taps a fingernail against the ceramic mug. “I believe,” he says, “they think I’m dangerous.”</p>
<p>“Because you broke one rule? One time?” Wooyoung knows he’s getting loud, but he feels unreasonably outraged by the idea of anyone deciding to murder San—sweet, lovely San, who complimented Wooyoung’s cooking, who let Wooyoung nurse him back to health, who pretended to be a kitten just so Wooyoung could see his friends—for committing a single crime. </p>
<p>“It’s the nature of the transgression,” San says, his voice gentle. “There are some who would label me a traitor for what I did.”</p>
<p>“But you just interfered in one human life, right?” Wooyoung says. “How bad could that possibly be?”</p>
<p>“I saved someone’s life, Wooyoung-ah.” San’s hands clench around the mug in his hands.</p>
<p>Wooyoung blinks. “But isn’t that good? You were guarding, right? Isn’t that what you do?”</p>
<p>“Not to this extent,” San says, voice tight. “We guide, but we cannot change fate. We should never prevent death, not even for—” He breaks off, letting out a rough breath.  </p>
<p>Suspicion starts creeping up Wooyoung’s spine, prickling his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He grips his coffee mug tight, setting his jaw. </p>
<p>“San,” he says, and forces himself to meet San’s gaze. San looks weary, resigned, which does nothing to help Wooyoung’s nerves, nor the slowly growing speculation threatening to shake him apart. “Whose life did you save?”</p>
<p>San just watches him for a moment, his silvery eyes warm and impossibly sad.</p>
<p>“Wooyoung-ah,” he says, gently.</p>
<p>“Please tell me,” Wooyoung whispers.</p>
<p>San is silent for another moment, and when he speaks, his voice is hushed.</p>
<p>“Yours.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s breath leaves him in a gust. He puts his mug down before he drops it, setting it on the coffee table, somehow managing not to spill. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, cupping his hands over his mouth as he tries to breathe.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he says, after what feels like hours of silence but what was probably only seconds. “Okay. Okay, you—how? When? <em>Why?</em>” </p>
<p>“Because I am your guardian,” San says. He is watching Wooyoung carefully, concern darkening his brow, but he makes no move to reach out, his hands still clutching his coffee mug. Wooyoung doesn’t know whether he’s grateful for that or frustrated by it. “I was assigned to guide you, to watch over you for your whole life, but I knew… I knew that you would die in an accident.”</p>
<p>“An accident,” Wooyoung repeats, dully. “What kind of accident? Car?”</p>
<p>“Bus,” San says, looking almost apologetic.</p>
<p>“Bus,” Wooyoung says, half-laughing. “Oh my god. I was gonna die in a fucking bus accident.” He rubs his hands over his face, drags his fingers through his hair, mussing it up, long dark strands falling into his face. “Wait, last month?” he says, jerking his head up. “When I—oh god.” Wooyoung feels the blood drain from his face as he recalls what seemed like such a trivial memory: running for a bus he didn’t usually take, hooking his foot over someone else’s, toppling to the ground in magnificent fashion, his palms scraped, knees and pride bruised, stopping just long enough to make sure that the old woman he almost took out in his fall was all right, and then getting to his feet only to realize that his bus had already left, the bus that would then go on to get t-boned by a truck that ran a red light, a news story Wooyoung remembers only vaguely because at the time he didn’t even realize it was the bus he missed, the bus he almost took, the bus that almost killed— </p>
<p>“I think I need to lie down,” Wooyoung mutters, leaning over in an attempt to put his head between his knees, his blood rushing in his ears.</p>
<p>“Maybe you shouldn’t have told him.” That’s Yunho’s voice, sounding distant.</p>
<p>“He almost died again yesterday,” San says. “He deserves to know the whole truth.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung hears another mug get set on the coffee table, and then someone kneels beside him, close, but not yet touching.</p>
<p>“Wooyoung-ah.” San’s voice is soft, worried. “Will you let me—?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung is tempted to say no, is tempted to hold a grudge and kick these goddamn angels out of his apartment and lock himself away in the dark to contemplate the triviality of his almost death, but instead he finds himself nodding, and somehow feels better as soon as a soothing hand settles into his hair, fingers curling against his scalp, chasing away the fog, the dizziness. Wooyoung draws in a deep breath, feels his lungs expand with new focus, hears his heart still beating, the blood still thrumming through his veins, all apparently a month past their originally planned expiration date.</p>
<p>“Why?” he asks at last, voice shaking. “Why did you save me?”</p>
<p>San’s hand goes still in Wooyoung’s hair. “I didn’t want you to die.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung turns his head so he can meet San’s silvery gaze. </p>
<p>“That doesn’t quite answer the question, does it?” he whispers.</p>
<p>San watches him for a few heavy, silent seconds. His lips are pressed tight, his brows downturned, dark hair mussed from a sleepless night, and he is still somehow the most beautiful person Wooyoung has ever seen. </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” San admits at last.</p>
<p>Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut, his heart twisting.</p>
<p>“Did you come find me on purpose, when you were hurt?” Wooyoung asks. “Did you know where I would be?”</p>
<p>San shifts on his knees. “I wasn’t exactly… coherent, when I fled that night,” he says. “I don’t know how I ended up in that park, but it might have been some sort of desperate muscle memory. I knew where you lived, and I knew I needed help.” San pauses, his hand slipping from Wooyoung’s head to clench in his own lap. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I never meant to endanger you.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Wooyoung says, and he does. As much as he would like to blame San for dragging him into this mess, for interfering in his life (<em>death?</em>) and unintentionally painting a target on his back, he is unable to hold onto his anger. He keeps thinking back to that bus accident, thinking of his parents, his younger brother, his friends, how they would all feel if San hadn’t interfered, if Wooyoung had actually died.</p>
<p>He cannot sustain any anger at still being alive.</p>
<p>Wooyoung takes San’s hand and squeezes it. San looks up at him with wide eyes, apparently surprised by the contact, and Wooyoung manages a small, strained smile, which San returns, tentatively.</p>
<p>“We still have some problems to deal with,” Yunho says; Wooyoung almost forgot he was still there. “Someone wants San dead, and we don’t yet know how far up the chain of command that goes.”</p>
<p>“Can’t you protect him?” Wooyoung says, finally looking at Yunho again, his hand still wrapped around San’s. “Until you figure out who’s trying to kill him?”</p>
<p>Yunho’s smile is soft, indulgent. “Yes,” he says. “But he’s currently more worried about you.”</p>
<p>“What?” Wooyoung turns back to San. “Why? Because of the attack yesterday?”</p>
<p>San slants a glance at Yunho. “That, and…” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “You missed your death, Wooyoung-ah. That means you’re living on borrowed time.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung’s heart sinks, his blood turning cold. </p>
<p>“What does that mean?” he asks.</p>
<p>“It might mean nothing,” San says, squeezing Wooyoung’s hand.</p>
<p>“But it also might mean that someone on our end will attempt to re-balance the scales,” Yunho says. “We have no idea what consequences there might be from you not dying on that bus, and that’s the kind of stuff that freaks out the traditionalists. They might try to make things right.”</p>
<p>“You mean they might try to kill me,” Wooyoung says.</p>
<p>“It’s a possibility,” Yunho says.</p>
<p>“I won’t let them,” San says, shooting Yunho a glare before turning back to Wooyoung. “There is precedence for this. You don’t need to die. Humans have missed their deaths before and lived for decades after. You’ll be fine.” </p>
<p>Wooyoung looks to San, his heart in his throat. “Can you promise that?” he says.</p>
<p>San tightens his hand around Wooyoung’s, silver eyes shining. “I can.”</p>
<p>“San-ah.” Yunho’s voice is low, a warning.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” San snaps. “I’ll stay with him. I can protect him until we figure this all out.” San pauses, glancing at Wooyoung. “If Wooyoung is all right with it, of course.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung is nodding before he even fully understands what San is proposing. He clings to San’s hand, feeling numb, unable to comprehend much beyond <em>I should be dead</em> and <em>San has saved my life twice now</em>, both of which lead him to the natural conclusion of <em>I need San to stay by my side</em>.</p>
<p>“All right,” Yunho says. “I’ll check in on you two periodically while I help Jongho figure out who wants San dead. San-ah, are you sure you’ll be all right protecting him on your own?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” San says. “I’ll be more prepared now, they won’t—”</p>
<p>Someone knocks on Wooyoung’s front door.</p>
<p>All three of them freeze. Wooyoung glances back at the door—a useless reaction, honestly, since he can’t see through doors anyway—his breath catching panicky in his throat.</p>
<p>“Are you expecting someone?” Yunho asks, keeping his voice low.</p>
<p>“No, I—” Wooyoung breaks off, shaking his head. “I don’t know who that is.” He gets to his feet, finally dropping San’s hand, and watches the door warily, half-hoping that if he just ignores it, the person will go away.</p>
<p>A few moments later, the knocking comes again, louder this time, followed by a familiar voice.</p>
<p>“Jung Wooyoung, I heard voices, I know you’re there,” Seonghwa says, his muffled voice sharp. “Now open this goddamn door before I kick it down.”</p>
<p>“Shit,” Wooyoung mutters.</p>
<p>Yunho blinks at the door, eyebrows raised. “Can he do that?”</p>
<p>“No, he can’t, but you still—you have to go,” Wooyoung hisses, turning back to flutter his hands at the immortal beings sitting in his living room like they’re birds he can just shoo away (which Wooyoung understands is ridiculous, but he’s panicking a bit). “He’s not gonna leave without seeing me, he’s too much of a worrywart for that.”</p>
<p>“I’ll leave,” Yunho says, rising gracefully to his feet. He points at San, golden eyes gleaming. “You’re staying, I assume?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” San says. “Let me know if anything changes on your end.”</p>
<p>Yunho nods. “Be safe,” he says, and then he vanishes without a sound, a small breeze the only sign of his departure. Wooyoung stares for a stunned moment at where the archangel was just standing, and then he turns to San, clasping his hands together pleadingly.</p>
<p>“Kitten?” he asks, and San smiles, already unbuttoning his shirt.</p>
<p>“Go answer the door,” he says, and Wooyoung rushes to the door, trusting that San will be transformed by the time he opens it.</p>
<p>“Okay, okay, I’m here,” Wooyoung says, pitching his voice loud enough that Seonghwa can hear him through the door, and then he flips the lock back, takes a moment to brace himself, glances over his shoulder to make sure San is nowhere in sight, and swings the door open.</p>
<p>Seonghwa stands in the hallway, cheeks and nose flushed with cold, glaring at Wooyoung from beneath a fuzzy beanie.</p>
<p>“What the hell, Wooyoung?” Seonghwa asks, storming past Wooyoung into Wooyoung’s apartment, already swiping off his scarf. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Or any of your messages? Do you know how worried I’ve been?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung winces. “Sorry, I—it’s been a rough morning.”</p>
<p>“So you couldn’t even shoot me a single message to let me know you’re all right?” Seonghwa lets out a huff, unzipping his winter coat and toeing off his boots. He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Who were you talking to?”</p>
<p>Wooyoung feels a flash of panic. “I, uh. Just turned off the TV?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Seonghwa says. “Are you okay? How’s your head?” </p>
<p>“Better,” Wooyoung says, silently apologizing for the white lie. “Most of the pain was gone by the time I woke up, but I still felt pretty crummy, so I decided to sleep a bit more and skip my morning classes.”</p>
<p>Seonghwa’s face softens. He presses the back of his hand to Wooyoung’s forehead, and then to Wooyoung’s cheek, his skin still cold from being outside.</p>
<p>“Do you need anything?” Seonghwa asks, the irritation in his voice bleeding into concern. “Food? Meds? I can’t really help you with your physics notes, but Mingi can probably get you set up. I can bother him about it, if you want.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, hyung,” Wooyoung says, his stomach twisting with guilt. “I think I’m okay for now.” He feels awful for lying to Seonghwa, for keeping such huge secrets from him and getting free, undeserved sympathy, but he has no idea how he’d even explain the past few days to Seonghwa without sounding insane. How do you tell one of your best friends that the injured kitten you rescued over the weekend is actually your guardian angel, who is being unjustly punished for saving you from meeting your untimely doom? </p>
<p>Said kitten chooses that moment to let out a high, plaintive cry, and Seonghwa lights up, turning his gaze to the living room.</p>
<p>“You still have our San?” he says with a smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Wooyoung gently pulls Seonghwa’s hand away from his face. “Go say hi, hyung. I think he’s missed you.”</p>
<p>Seonghwa ruffles Wooyoung’s hair and heads for the living room. Wooyoung closes the front door and leans back against it, watching fondly as Seonghwa scoops San—a small black kitten once more—into his arms, cooing at him and scratching under his chin. San’s eyes close as he arches into the touch, purring so loudly that Wooyoung can hear him from across the apartment, and Wooyoung can’t help but smile.</p>
<p>Lord, his life has gotten weird.</p>
<p>“Did you still want to put up missing cat posters for this little guy?” Seonghwa asks. “I should have some time over the weekend, I can help you get something whipped up.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung doesn’t answer for a moment, watching his best friend spoil his fuzzy little guardian angel. (<em>Guardian demon? Wooyoung knows that San being punished means that he’s currently more demonically aligned, but when Wooyoung compares San to the creature that nearly killed him last night, there’s no way he can consider San truly a demon.</em>)</p>
<p>“No,” Wooyoung says. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone looking for him, and I’ve enjoyed having him around, so… I think I’ll keep him, for now.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Seonghwa says, although he looks rather pleased to be able to keep San around. “Keeping a kitten around can be a big responsibility, especially if you end up keeping him long term.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Wooyoung looks at San, who meets his gaze with silvery eyes, small pointed ears pricked forward. Wooyoung smiles. “But I’m sure. He’s gonna stay.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Seonghwa hangs around for most of the morning, fussing over both Wooyoung (who keeps insisting that he’s fine now, thank you, he doesn’t need another cup of tea or another aspirin) and San (who preens under the attention, purring loudly enough to bring the building down). He eventually leaves after a bit more scolding (<em>“Next time just answer your phone, Wooyoung, some of us worry about you.”</em>) and a promise to check in again the next day, leaving Wooyoung with a free afternoon.</p>
<p>The apartment is oddly quiet, in the few seconds after Seonghwa leaves. Wooyoung stands near the door, staring at the handle, his thoughts drifting. His poor night of sleep is starting to catch up with him, and he feels an ache in his shoulders, weighing him down.</p>
<p>“Lock it, please.” San’s voice is low behind him, a bit rough.</p>
<p>Wooyoung slides the lock into place, but he doesn’t turn right away, giving San some time to get dressed again.</p>
<p>“‘Answer your phone,’” Wooyoung says, quietly.</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“That’s what Seonghwa said when he was yelling at me,” Wooyoung says. “He told me to answer my phone, because he worries. It just made me wonder… if I had died on that bus, or even last night… is that how he would’ve found out? Me not answering my phone?”</p>
<p>There is silence behind him, save for the gentle whisper of clothes on skin. Wooyoung closes his eyes, leans forward until his forehead bumps the wood of his door. </p>
<p>“Who would’ve told him?” he whispers.</p>
<p>San doesn’t speak, but Wooyoung hears his footsteps padding closer, and then a hand touches his back, soft, almost hesitant.</p>
<p>“Your mother,” San says.</p>
<p>Wooyoung turns, fixing wide eyes on San. “What?” he says. “You—do you <em>know</em> that, or—?”</p>
<p>San’s eyes are somber. “I remember how certain details would have played out. Your mother would have been contacted first. She would have let Seonghwa know.”</p>
<p>Wooyoung lets out a harsh breath, his chest aching as he thinks of his mother making that phone call, how strong she would probably try to be, how she would attempt to drown out her own grief in her concern for Seonghwa, for the rest of Wooyoung’s family and friends, his father, his siblings, oh god, his <em>little brother</em>—  </p>
<p>Wooyoung can feel his breaths starting to come in short, small gasps, his throat constricting, eyes prickling, face crumpling. He reaches out blindly as the sobs start to come, fingers catching on dark fabric, and San gathers him close, hugging Wooyoung so tightly that it almost hurts. Wooyoung sags against San, hiding his face in San’s chest as he starts to cry, his breath hitching, tiny whimpers escaping as he tries to hold back, tries not to completely break down.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” San murmurs, petting Wooyoung’s hair, his breath soft against Wooyoung’s ear. He is warm and strong and smells like embers, and Wooyoung clutches at him like a man drowning, desperate and trembling. “I’m so sorry, Young-ah.”</p>
<p>And for some reason that nickname—spoken so softly, so sadly, in San’s beautiful voice—is the pebble that causes the avalanche, and Wooyoung shatters, letting out a gasping sob as he clings to the only solace he has, the angel who saved his life.</p>
<p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(sorry for the slightly shorter chapter, life has been rough - thanks for reading~)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Trap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tags have been updated a bit as this story nears its conclusion... ♡</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I should go to class,” Wooyoung says the next morning, lying curled on the couch, his head pillowed on San’s lap, an old baking show playing at low volume on the television.</p><p>San’s hand pauses, his fingers still curled into Wooyoung’s hair.</p><p>“When would you have to leave?” he asks.</p><p>Wooyoung stretches out a hand to fumble for his phone on the coffee table, tapping the screen to life so he can see the time.</p><p>“In like… thirty minutes,” he grumbles.</p><p>San starts moving his hand again, fingertips light against Wooyoung’s scalp, sending pleasant tingles down Wooyoung’s spine.</p><p>“Would you like me to accompany you?” San asks.</p><p>Wooyoung considers it, his gaze fixed on the TV but not quite watching. If he’s being honest, then yes, there is a large part of him that wants San with him at all times now, to fend off demons and archangels and any other number of dangerous entities that might show up looking to use Wooyoung as bait or casually murder him in the street. On the other hand, Wooyoung is aware that it’s not realistic for San to be with him for every hour of every day, especially when some of those hours involve Wooyoung seeing his friends, who are sure to ask questions about Wooyoung’s handsome new companion.</p><p>“Not in class,” Wooyoung says eventually. “But… could you walk me to campus?”</p><p>“I’d be happy to,” San says, and Wooyoung’s heart flutters at the smile he can hear in San’s voice.</p><p>San has been… wonderful, ever since the previous day’s revelations. When Wooyoung needed to cry, San let him cry. When Wooyoung needed to rant about how unfair it is that <em>he</em> was chosen to die so early, that his life could have ended in the blink of an eye before he was even able to finish <em>college</em>, San let him rant. When Wooyoung’s stomach started to growl, San coaxed him to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers. When Wooyoung exhausted himself and fell asleep on the couch, his throat raw and cheeks crusted with teartracks, San carried him to bed, where Wooyoung awoke hours later, blinking away the early morning light, his head pillowed on San’s shoulder, San’s arm looped securely around his waist.</p><p>It was embarrassing, at first, waking up with swollen eyes and a thick throat, but Wooyoung’s self-consciousness faded as soon as San realized he was awake and graced him with a tentative smile, dark hair falling softly into shining silver eyes.</p><p>“Good morning,” San said, as simple as that, and Wooyoung decided with a swelling heart that maybe… maybe he’ll be okay.</p><p>They leave for campus about twenty-five minutes after Wooyoung forces himself to get off the couch, freshly showered and all bundled up, a beanie squashed over his hastily dried hair and his heavy schoolbag slung over one shoulder. San has produced a sleek black peacoat and knit scarf from somewhere and looks entirely too dashing to be walking around on a college campus at nine in the morning, his hair half-slicked back the way it was when they first met, but now fully dark, no red streaks to be found. About halfway down the block, Wooyoung starts humming a popular drama OST, just to see if he gets a reaction, but San only fixes him with a curious look, so Wooyoung keeps his Goblin references to himself and laces their gloved fingers together, squeezing tightly.</p><p>“This lecture is only an hour long,” Wooyoung says. “But I promised Mingi I’d study with him for a while over lunch, so I’m just gonna stay on campus until my 2 o’clock class, and I’ll be home after that. What’re you gonna do while I’m gone?”</p><p>“I’m sure I can find a way to amuse myself,” San says.</p><p>“Don’t do anything rash, please,” Wooyoung says, a sudden fear coming over him. “Don’t go hunting down demons by yourself, or—or fighting any big bad angels, or anything like that. Okay?”</p><p>“Wooyoung,” San says, sounding amused, “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“I’m serious,” Wooyoung insists, squeezing San’s hand. “Yunho said you’re still being hunted, so just be careful, okay? Promise?”</p><p>“I promise,” San says. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be waiting for you when you get home, you have my word.”</p><p>The promise eases Wooyoung’s concerns a bit, but he’s still reluctant to let go of San’s hand once they arrive on campus. Oddly enough, he’s more frightened for the seraph at this point than he is for himself. He has a feeling that even demons wouldn’t be brazen enough to attack him in the middle of a jam-packed lecture hall in broad daylight, but San will have no such defense, and the demons have gotten the better of him before; they might be able to do it again. As little as Wooyoung likes Yunho, he finds himself wishing the archangel were still here, if only to keep an eye on San.</p><p>“I’ll be home around 3,” Wooyoung says, and now he’s definitely loitering, standing with San just outside his lecture hall. He finally drops San’s hand, shoving his own hand into his jacket pocket to smother any temptation to snag San’s sleeve and cling.</p><p>“Have a nice time in class,” San says with a smile, and Wooyoung can see the fond amusement glimmering in his eyes, but there’s concern there, too, in the slight crease in San’s brow, the uncertain tilt of his smile.</p><p>“I’ll be okay, San-ah,” Wooyoung says, quietly. His heart skips; it’s the first time he’s been so familiar with the seraph. “Really.”</p><p>San’s smile softens. “You should go,” he says. “You’ll be late.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, I just—” Wooyoung sighs, frustrated that he can’t quite find the words for what he wants to say. <em>Be careful</em> has already been spoken. <em>Stay with me</em> is tempting, but Wooyoung shoves that away. <em>Why do I feel so warm and safe when I look at you</em> is too big and too frightening to deal with mere moments before Wooyoung needs to be normal for a few hours, so instead he just settles on, “I’ll see you later,” and then forces himself to turn away from San and head into the building, hunching his shoulders as the dry, stale air of the entryway hits him, a product of old furnaces doing their best to stave off the winter chill.</p><p>Wooyoung whips off his beanie and ruffles his hair, wishing he’d spent more time drying it, and is about three steps from his classroom when a big hand hooks him by the elbow and jerks him to a halt.</p><p>“Here,” Mingi says, shoving a notebook into Wooyoung’s chest. “Physics notes from Yubin. Are you still sick, or is that just from being outside?” He’s pointing at Wooyoung’s cheeks, which Wooyoung assumes are ruddy from the chill.</p><p>“It’s the wind,” Wooyoung says, scrubbing the heel of his hand against his cheek. “And I’m not sick. I just had a headache yesterday, that’s all.”</p><p>Mingi’s frown turns sympathetic. “Migraine?”</p><p>Wooyoung shifts, still not super comfortable lying to his friends. “I’m not sure,” he says. “Just… felt like shit. Needed to sleep it off.” He lifts Yubin’s notebook, forcing a grin. “Thanks for this, by the way. I’ll owe Yubin the next time she oversleeps.”</p><p>“As if Yubin would ever oversleep,” Mingi grumbles. “Come on. There are still some seats near the back.”</p><p>Class ends up being uneventful, as Wooyoung predicted. He takes notes on autopilot, his chin pillowed on one hand, eyes half-lidded and mind wandering. He almost dozes off about halfway through the lecture, but Mingi nudges him in the ribs before he can properly fall asleep, then jerks his chin at Wooyoung’s notebook.</p><p>“What’s that?” Mingi whispers. Wooyoung blinks at him before looking down at his notebook page. His heart stutters. Apparently he’s been mindlessly doodling dark wings and shadowy eyes along the margin of his notes, delicate feathers curling between sentences, black-inked eyes staring up at him from beside bullet points.</p><p>“Ah,” Wooyoung whispers, covering some of the drawings with his arm. “Nothing, just… just some doodles.”</p><p>“They look cool,” Mingi says, and then turns his attention back to the lecture, but Wooyoung can’t drag his mind away from the penned wings and eyes on the paper. He doesn’t even remember starting to draw them; the last thing he remembers is his attention starting to drift and his thoughts turning automatically to San, but only vaguely, recalling images over anything more specific: sharp silvery eyes, soft dark hair, the gentle brush of feathers against Wooyoung’s skin. Wooyoung’s cheeks and neck grow warm, and he prays that Mingi is too engrossed in the lecture to notice.</p><p>Wooyoung spends the rest of the class waiting for it to be over. Now that he’s given in to the temptation of thinking about San, he can’t help but dwell on the seraph with a rather embarrassing amount of focus. He wonders whether San really did go straight back to Wooyoung’s apartment, or if he might be hanging around campus a bit, curious about the human world. How familiar is San with the human world, anyway? He must have seen plenty of it, in his long lifetime, and he must be at least slightly familiar with Wooyoung’s small part of the world in particular after watching over him for so long, but would he be tempted to try out a local cafe? Wander a bookstore? Window shop on the main street leading into campus? </p><p>Wooyoung hopes San is being vigilant, wherever he is. He knows that San is strong and even more aware of the danger he’s in than Wooyoung is, but Wooyoung can’t help but picture worst case scenarios: San ambushed and pinned in a shadowy alleyway, gagged so he can’t call for help, poisoned and beaten and alone. Or, hell, what if San actually <em>did</em> go back to Wooyoung’s apartment, but the demons were waiting for him there, ready to pounce as soon as San stepped into the empty living room, dragging him away to hell or worse? </p><p>Wooyoung stares at the clock, after those thoughts, his right knee bouncing, pen tapping quietly against his notebook. The minutes tick away with agonizing slowness, and then finally—<em>finally</em>—the hour is done, the lecturer wraps up her talk, and the room fills with the sound of chairs scraping and students chatting and padded winter coats being grabbed from the backs of chairs.</p><p>“Library?” Mingi says, stretching his arms above his head.</p><p>“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, already shoving his pen and notebook into his bag. “I’m gonna run ahead to use the bathroom before we start studying, though. Usual table?”</p><p>Mingi looks surprised. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll grab it and meet you there.”</p><p>“Thanks, man, see you soon.” Wooyoung shrugs into his coat, grabs his bag and scarf, and scurries from the classroom.</p><p>The winter air knocks the breath from Wooyoung’s lungs as he bursts out of the building, already jogging for the library. His book bag bumps against his side, and he didn’t zip his coat, so his torso is freezing by the time he reaches the library doors and shoves his way inside. He doesn’t go to the restroom, like he said he would. Instead, he heads for the stairs and takes them two at a time up to the quiet third floor, where he slips into the stacks, weaving through dusty shelves filled with old encyclopedias and yellowing biographies that no one has touched in years. He finally arrives at the far side of the stacks, near the tall frosted windows, away from any prying eyes, and it’s only then that he stops, breathing hard, heart racing.</p><p><em>This is stupid</em>, Wooyoung thinks, even as he runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath.</p><p>“San,” he says, under his breath, still a bit wary of anyone hearing him, despite the silence of the stacks. “San,” he says again, a bit firmer this time, and then, finally more than a whisper, “San.”</p><p>For a moment, the silence remains, and Wooyoung’s terrible, worrying brain starts to assume the worst, but then Wooyoung blinks and San is standing in front of him, looking concerned, but just as dashing (and safe) as he did an hour ago. A few shadows retreat beneath the cuffs of San’s jacket and collar, and Wooyoung thinks he spies some black feathers fluttering to the floor at San’s feet.</p><p>“Are you all right?” San asks, before Wooyoung can even open his mouth to speak, and Wooyoung manages a small nod before he steps forward and wraps his arms around San. San envelops him in a hug in an instant, and they stand like that for a few silent moments before San speaks again, his voice low. “Are you <em>sure </em>you’re all right?”</p><p>“Yeah, sorry,” Wooyoung says, his voice muffled by San’s coat. “I just let my brain get carried away during class and I… I wanted to see you.” Wooyoung curls closer, the embarrassment starting to catch up with him. “Ugh,” he grumbles. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>San cradles the back of Wooyoung’s head, curling his fingers into Wooyoung’s hair.</p><p>“It’s all right,” San says. “But I can still keep an eye on you even when I’m not around, you know. You’re safe here. I promise.”</p><p>“Wasn’t worried for me,” Wooyoung mutters.</p><p>“Hm?” San leans down to hear him, and Wooyoung flushes, hiding his face even more.</p><p>“I wasn’t worried about myself,” Wooyoung says, a bit louder. “I was thinking about you.”</p><p>San is quiet for a moment, and then he says, softly, “I promised you I wouldn’t do anything reckless.”</p><p>“I know.” Wooyoung’s fingers curl into the back of San’s coat. “And I trust you, I do. But I don’t trust those things hunting you. No matter how careful you are, they might still be able to find you, right?”</p><p>“I suppose so,” San admits, and Wooyoung squeezes him in tiny victory.</p><p>“See?” he says. </p><p>San sighs. “I can look after myself for a few hours, Young-ah,” he says. “Really. Weren’t you meeting a friend here?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Wooyoung sighs. “He’s probably here by now. I suppose I should go find him.”</p><p>“Would you like me to stay?” San asks, carding his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair.</p><p>Wooyoung closes his eyes. “No,” he says, a bit grudging. “I’ll just have to get better at distracting myself for a few hours until I get home. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”</p><p>“Wooyoung?” </p><p>Wooyoung’s eyes snap open, and he jolts out of San’s arms, head whipping around to find Mingi standing in the nearest aisle, watching them with curious eyes, clearly trying his best not to smile.</p><p>“Hey,” Wooyoung says, breathless, his heart racing. “Um—this isn’t—how’d you know where I was?”</p><p>“You weren’t in the bathroom, and you always come up here when something’s bothering you,” Mingi says. His gaze shifts to San, calculating. “Who’s this?”</p><p>“Oh, this is—uh—”</p><p>“San,” San says, smiling. </p><p>“San,” Mingi repeats, slowly, like he’s testing out the name. “Are you the reason Wooyoung was freaking out last weekend?” </p><p>San turns to Wooyoung, his head tilting, bemused. “You were freaking out?”</p><p>“He was all nervous that someone wouldn’t think he was hot,” Mingi says, unable to keep the grin from his face.</p><p>Wooyoung shoots Mingi a glare, but decides, fuck it, he might as well run with it. He takes San’s hand in his own and links their fingers, knowing that Mingi will catch the act as the hint it is.</p><p>“Fine, yes, he is the reason I was freaking out,” Wooyoung tells Mingi. “But that wasn’t his fault. I was just being dumb.”</p><p>Mingi eyes their linked hands, glances at San’s guileless expression, and then meets Wooyoung’s gaze. Wooyoung smiles at him, his heart thumping, and Mingi finally smiles back.</p><p>“Cool,” Mingi says. “Well, nice to meet you, San. I’m Mingi. Did you still want to study, Young-ah, or are you gonna hang out with him for a bit?”</p><p>“He’s going to study,” San says, and then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Wooyoung’s lips. Wooyoung’s brain short-circuits, his breath catching in his throat. Distantly, he feels San smile against his skin before pulling away and turning back to Mingi, but Wooyoung barely notices, his heart tripping over itself, his neck and ears flushed hot. “I have some errands to run. I just stopped by to say hello between classes.”</p><p>“Gotcha.” Mingi is definitely holding back laughter now, and Wooyoung would be tempted to punch him if he could concentrate on anything but the blood rushing in his ears and the tingling sensation of soft lips against his skin. “I’ll meet you downstairs at our usual table, then?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, and it’s a miracle his voice even works. “Just give me a second to say goodbye to San.”</p><p>“You got it,” Mingi says. “Nice to meet you, San.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you, too!” San chirps, and Mingi finally turns to go, leaving them alone once again.</p><p>San tugs on Wooyoung’s hand, turning him so they’re face to face. San’s lips are curled into a dimpled smile, and his eyes are shining.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry in the least. “Are you all right? I didn’t think that would be so surprising.”</p><p>“I want to be more prepared the next time you do that,” Wooyoung blurts, and he knows that might be assuming a lot, and that he’s still blushing madly, but judging by the way San’s eyes curve into pleased crescents, he decides that the seraph is at least open to the idea, which probably shouldn’t thrill Wooyoung as much as it does. “Please,” Wooyoung adds, a hasty afterthought, and San squeezes his hand.</p><p>“Of course,” San says. “I’m going to do it again, then. Now. If you’re ready.”</p><p>“I’m ready,” Wooyoung says, his heart in his throat, and this time when San leans in, Wooyoung lets his eyes slip shut and turns his head just enough to meet San’s kiss fully, their mouths meeting in a gentle brush of lips. San goes still for a moment, and Wooyoung presses forward to make the kiss a bit firmer, a bit more deliberate, before he pulls back, his stomach fluttering and cheeks warm. “I’ll see you later,” he says. “Be safe?”</p><p>San stares at Wooyoung for a moment, eyes wide and lips parted, and then he smiles and leans in again, this time pressing a gentle kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead.</p><p>“Always.”</p><p>*</p><p>Wooyoung nearly sprints home after his last class. Mingi, bless him, didn’t ask any questions other than whether Wooyoung and San were dating (<em>not officially</em>) and how they met (<em>coincidence</em>), but he spent the majority of their study session shooting amused glances Wooyoung’s way every time Wooyoung would sigh, or blush, or catch himself staring out the window in a daze, distracted by the memory of soft lips and a dimpled smile, and Wooyoung, despite appreciating the lack of an interrogation, was rather tempted to deck him.</p><p>The sun is already starting to dip in the sky by the time Wooyoung arrives home. He reaches his door in record time and takes a moment to stand outside it, catching his breath, feeling a bit overwarm in his scarf and coat despite the chilly weather. He unlocks the handle, lets out a shaky breath, and then shoves the door open.</p><p>His apartment is warm and golden-lit, the only light coming from the side-table lamps in the living room. San sits on the couch, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and gray cardigan that Wooyoung doesn’t recognize. San looks up as Wooyoung enters the apartment, lowering a book to his lap, a smile blooming on his face. Wooyoung’s heart does something embarrassing and wiggly in his chest at the sight of San sitting so comfortably in his living room, like he belongs there.</p><p>“Hey,” Wooyoung says, deliberately casual, letting his bag drop to the floor as he shrugs out of his scarf and coat. </p><p>“Hello,” San says. “How was the rest of your day?”</p><p>“Boring, thank goodness.” Wooyoung toes off his boots and tosses his coat over the back of a kitchen chair on his way into the living room. San’s hair is down again, falling softly over his forehead, and Wooyoung tries not to be distracted by that as he flops onto the couch beside San, not quite close enough to touch. “But fine. How was yours?”</p><p>“Quiet.” San tucks a small scrap of paper in between the pages of his book, marking his spot, and sets it aside. The book is one of Wooyoung’s, an old novel he read for a literature class a few semesters back, presumably tugged from Wooyoung’s overladen shelf. “No hunting down demons or fighting big bad angels.”</p><p>San’s tone is teasing, and Wooyoung makes a face at him, recognizing his own words tossed back at him. </p><p>“Good,” Wooyoung says. “Let’s keep it that way.” He pauses then, meeting San’s gaze. “I kissed you today,” he says, and that’s not exactly how he planned to bring the topic up, but he supposes it’ll do. He kissed an immortal being earlier. He deserves to be a bit discombobulated.</p><p>“You did,” San says, carefully. “Although to be fair, I kissed you first.”</p><p>“Only a little bit,” Wooyoung says. “As a ruse. I made it… more than a ruse. Or at least, that was my intention. Did you—did it come across that way?”</p><p>“It did.” San’s voice is quiet. “And you’re… all right with that?”</p><p>“Of course I am.” Wooyoung sits up straighter. “I wanted to kiss you. I <em>still</em> want to kiss you. Didn’t you want to kiss me?”</p><p>“Yes,” San whispers, but he says it rather like he’s admitting a grave sin, and that’s not what Wooyoung wants, so Wooyoung scoots closer to him, until their legs are brushing.</p><p>“I’d like to kiss you again,” Wooyoung says, his heart racing. “If you’re all right with it. May I?”</p><p>San is frozen for a moment, silvery eyes wide and shining, and then he nods, and Wooyoung leans in, framing San’s beautiful face in his hands. He pauses a breath away, taking in the way San’s eyes slide shut, the way San’s lips part beneath Wooyoung’s thumb. Wooyoung’s heart aches under the weight of too many emotions, overwhelming and a bit scary, and he leans in and presses his lips to San’s, tender and careful. San kisses him back, thank god; a soft hand comes up to rest against Wooyoung’s neck, fingers curling against his skin, and Wooyoung shivers, pressing closer, deepening the kiss. He half expects to feel sparks burst in his veins, or shadows caressing his cheeks, but instead there’s only San, warm and close, his lips plush and parted. Wooyoung risks adding tongue to the kiss, his heart in his throat, and is relieved when San’s mouth opens willingly beneath his own, a small sound escaping San’s throat. Wooyoung slides a hand into San’s hair, threading through silky strands, fingernails brushing San’s scalp. He feels San draw a shaky breath, feels the hand on his throat slide back to squeeze the nape of his neck just as San pulls away.</p><p>“Young-ah, wait.” San’s voice is breathy, low, warm against Wooyoung’s lips. “I really shouldn’t—this isn’t—”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung runs his hand through San’s hair again and is gratified by the way San’s eyes slip shut, the way he leans cat-like into the touch. “Is there some kind of rule that you can’t make out with humans or something?”</p><p>San’s expression turns pained, but he doesn’t move away from Wooyoung’s touch. “Not exactly,” he says, “but because it’s you—”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Wooyoung knows he’s being bratty, knows he should let San finish his thought, but now that he has San here like this, practically in his lap and flushed with pleasure, he’s loath to let the opportunity pass him by. “You already broke the rules when you saved me, right? So what’s breaking another little rule about kissing?”</p><p>San fixes Wooyoung with a flat look even as Wooyoung continues to stroke his hair.</p><p>“Please don’t joke about that,” San says.</p><p>“I’m not joking,” Wooyoung says. “I just…” He trails off, letting his hand slip down to San’s cheek, brushing his thumb over a sculpted cheekbone. “I just wanted to kiss you,” he whispers. “For the same reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you during my classes today, and the same reason I slept so well last night while you were holding me, and the night before that, and last weekend.”</p><p>“Wooyoung-ah,” San says, barely more than a breath.</p><p>“I want you here,” Wooyoung continues, suddenly determined to get this out, because his heart is pounding and his hands are trembling, but he needs San to <em>know</em>. “For more than just protection. I like having you here, San-ah, I think—”</p><p>San cuts Wooyoung off by tugging him forward into a tight hug, startling him, but Wooyoung finds he doesn’t actually mind; he said basically everything he wanted to, anyway, and he can’t really complain about getting hugged by San, so instead he sinks into the embrace, letting San cradle him, one hand in his hair, the other rubbing his back.</p><p>“Okay,” San says quietly, mostly into Wooyoung’s hair. “I—thank you. I’m glad you like having me here, because I… I like being here. With you.” His arms tighten around Wooyoung. “And… we can kiss, still. If you’d like to. I like that, too.”</p><p>Wooyoung smiles, hidden against San’s sweater. “Good,” he says. “Giving up kissing so soon after we just started would’ve made me grumpy.”</p><p>“We can’t have that,” San says, and Wooyoung can hear his smile.</p><p>“Dinner and a movie tonight?” Wooyoung says, even as he wraps his arms around San to get more comfortable, no intention of moving just yet. “I don’t have classes tomorrow, and no plans until the afternoon, so this evening is totally free.”</p><p>“Dinner and a movie sounds perfect,” San says, pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s hair, and Wooyoung closes his eyes with a smile.</p><p>*</p><p>“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Wooyoung asks as he tugs on his boots near the door, getting ready to head out the next afternoon to meet Seonghwa and Hongjoong.</p><p>“I don’t want to intrude upon your time with your friends.” San stands in the kitchen, a steaming mug of tea in his hands, clad in one of Wooyoung’s overlarge sweatshirts. “And you said you wouldn’t be gone long.”</p><p>“A couple of hours, tops,” Wooyoung says, shrugging into his coat. “We’re just checking out Hongjoong’s art exhibition and then grabbing some coffee. Seonghwa and Hongjoong apparently have a date tonight, so Mingi and I are gonna split before that.” He zips up his coat, wraps a scarf around his throat, and then pauses, ready to go, but feeling oddly like something is off. Wooyoung glances at San, who is watching him with a soft expression, a slight furrow in his brow. “Everything okay?” he asks, quiet.</p><p>“Yes.” San sets the mug down on the counter and steps forward until he’s standing right in front of Wooyoung. He lifts a hand to Wooyoung’s cheek, fingertips feather light against Wooyoung’s skin, and then leans in and kisses Wooyoung on the lips. “Be safe,” he says, the words fanning warm across Wooyoung’s cheek, leaving Wooyoung a bit breathless.</p><p>“I will,” Wooyoung whispers, and then presses forward to kiss San again, firmer, his heart swelling. He still can’t quite believe that he can do this, that he can just kiss San. Wooyoung feels a bit heady with the newness of it all, and he drags in a shaky breath as he pulls away, meeting San’s eyes. “See you in a bit?” </p><p>San nods, his fingers brushing Wooyoung’s cheek. “See you in a bit.”</p><p>*</p><p>Wooyoung walks to Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s apartment in a daze, his mind stuck on warm lips and soft dark hair and silvery eyes meeting his in the early light of morning.</p><p>“You’re thinking about your boyfriend, aren’t you?” Hongjoong says eventually, once they’re together and halfway to the exhibition, his breath crystallizing in the air despite the rare wintry sunshine.</p><p>“Boyfriend?” Wooyoung says, blinking. “We’re not—I’m not—who said anything about a boyfriend?”</p><p>“Mingi,” Seonghwa says with a grin. “He said he caught you canoodling with a hot guy in the stacks yesterday.” He nudges Wooyoung with his elbow. “Why didn’t you tell us you were seeing someone?” </p><p>“‘Canoodling’?” Wooyoung nudges Seonghwa back, unable to keep a smile from his face. “Who canoodles anymore, hyung? It’s the 21st century.”</p><p>“So you at least admit to there being a hot guy, then?” Seognhwa asks. “And excuse you, ‘canoodling’ was Mingi’s word, not mine.”</p><p>“Mingi’s so weird,” Wooyoung says fondly. “Yes, there was a hot guy. It’s… new, so I haven’t really told anyone yet, but he’s…” Wooyoung pauses, trying to think of a way to describe San that won’t make Wooyoung sound like the lovelorn idiot he suspects he is. “Great,” he finally says, as insufficient as that term is.</p><p>“Good.” Seonghwa links his arm with Wooyoung’s, tugging him close. “He’d better be great, if he wants to date you. You deserve only the best.”</p><p>“So when do we get to meet him?” Hongjoong asks, shoving a bony elbow into Wooyoung’s other side. </p><p>“Not today,” Wooyoung says, laughing. “Come on. You’ll be late to your own exhibit.”</p><p>The art gallery is warm and bustling, and Wooyoung is able to lose himself in the normalcy of it for a while, surrounded by their friends, basking in the familiar sound of Seonghwa’s laugh, Mingi’s easy embrace, Hongjoong’s bashful smile as they all praise his work. Wooyoung spends a blissful hour making small talk and forgetting entirely about demons and angels and near misses, and before he even realizes it, the exhibit is winding to a close, and Seonghwa is handing Wooyoung his coat.</p><p>“Come on,” Seonghwa says. “Let’s get some coffee before you abandon us for the day.”</p><p>The four of them step out into the sunny cold, Mingi with an arm slung around Hongjoong’s shoulders, Seonghwa once again linking arms with Wooyoung. They cross the street at the corner, heading for one of their usual small coffee shops near campus, but just as they reach the other side, Seonghwa pauses with a quiet startled breath, patting his jacket pockets. </p><p>“Shit,” he mutters. “My phone.” He glances over his shoulder at the gallery, slipping his arm from Wooyoung’s. “I’m gonna run back and grab it, you guys wait here.”</p><p>“Hyung—” Wooyoung says, half-reaching for him, but Seonghwa is already stepping into the street, and that’s when Wooyoung realizes that something is wrong.</p><p>The crosswalk signal is still counting down, seconds left before the light changes. Exhaust fogs in the air near the cars idling at the intersection. Everything looks normal, safe, but Wooyoung’s stomach twists, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.</p><p>He hears it before he sees it, just as Seonghwa starts to jog across the street, a few steps off the curb: a rumbling engine, squealing tires, a few alarmed cries of pedestrians, and then a black Jeep appears from behind the line of traffic, speeding towards them, clearly intent on running the red light.</p><p>Wooyoung’s heart stops. He looks from Seonghwa, to the speeding Jeep, and makes a decision.</p><p>“<em>HYUNG!</em>” Wooyoung screams, already sprinting into the street, planning to either yank Seonghwa back or tackle him forward, Wooyoung doesn’t actually know. He just knows that he has to do <em>something</em>, he needs to save Seonghwa, he can’t just <em>watch</em> as Seonghwa—as he—</p><p>Wooyoung slams into Seonghwa and grabs his jacket, panic stealing his breath away. The momentum carries them forward, but not yet far enough, still in the way of the speeding Jeep, and Wooyoung catches sight of Seonghwa’s wide eyes, hears Hongjoong scream something from the sidewalk, just as he realizes that he was too late, just as he squeezes his eyes shut, tightens his grip on Seonghwa, and heaves, trying to shove Seonghwa as far away from him as possible before the inevitable contact, before— </p><p>Something solid strikes Wooyoung, sending both him and Seonghwa skidding across the pavement, but not from the direction Wooyoung expected. Wooyoung lands on his back beside Seonghwa in the crosswalk, both of them winded and gasping for air, but alive. Wooyoung blinks stars from his vision and sees dark wings spread above him, just for a moment, before they vanish, receding as soon as the Jeep speeds past, hitting no one, horn blaring as it swerves through the intersection and drives away. </p><p>The relative quiet in the moments afterward is deafening. Wooyoung can hear Seonghwa gasping beside him, can hear the car engines rumbling, still stopped at the red light, a few drivers leaning out their windows to call to them in concern. Hongjoong and Mingi are yelling from the curb, and Wooyoung waves a hand in the air, signalling that they’re all right.</p><p>“Did you just—?” Seonghwa’s voice is breathless, dazed. “What just happened? Was that you?” </p><p>“C-come on, hyung,” Wooyoung says, struggling to his feet and holding a hand out to Seonghwa. “We should move.”</p><p>Seonghwa nods and takes Wooyoung’s hand, letting Wooyoung tug him to his feet. They head for the side of the street where the gallery is and make it to the curb right before the light changes, the walk signal turning red, the cars finally pulling away from the intersection. </p><p>“I—I think I need to sit,” Seonghwa says faintly, and Wooyoung helps lower him to the ground near the building on the corner. His own knees are shaky, too, so Wooyoung crouches beside Seonghwa, taking in deep breaths, willing his racing heart to slow.</p><p>Wooyoung looks around the intersection, expecting to see those dark wings again, maybe some curling shadows, black hair and shining eyes, but he sees only strangers, random pedestrians pausing to ask them if they’re all right, to which Wooyoung says yes, just a bit shaken, thank you, and the pedestrians go on their way. But Wooyoung knows—he <em>knows</em>—they didn’t get out of that intersection on their own, and he’s tempted to call out a certain name three times, even in front of Seonghwa, when suddenly a soft hand settles on Wooyoung’s shoulder, making him jump. </p><p>“Here.” San’s voice is quiet, tight, and Wooyoung glances up to see him holding out Seonghwa’s cell phone, apparently recovered from the gallery. San’s wings are nowhere to be seen now; he’s dressed in the same slick peacoat he wore yesterday, but his hair is windswept and messy, as though he just traveled somewhere in a hurry.</p><p>“Th-thank you,” Wooyoung says, taking the phone. He hands it to Seonghwa, who takes it with a confused frown, and then Wooyoung stands to face San, his heart in his throat. “You—did you just—?” </p><p>“Are you all right?” San asks.</p><p>“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, breathless. “Yeah, I’m fine, I can’t believe—how’d you get here so fast?”</p><p>“Magic,” San says, low enough that Seonghwa won’t hear, his lips quirking into a small, tense smile. “I told you I can keep an eye on you even when I’m not around.”</p><p>“Oh,” Wooyoung says. “Right.” He glances down at Seonghwa, who is now looking up at them, his eyes wide and befuddled. “Oh, uh. Hyung, this is… this is San. San, this is my friend, Seonghwa.”</p><p>“San,” Seonghwa says, his brow furrowing. “Like… your cat, San?”</p><p>Wooyoung has to fight not to wince. “Ah, yeah, that… I was, uh. Kinda crushing a bit, when I named the kitten?” He hooks a thumb at San. “This is original San.” </p><p>Seonghwa gets to his feet, using the building as support.</p><p>“Okay, sorry, but—how’d you get here so fast?” he says, blinking at San. “You weren’t at the gallery, and I didn’t see—”</p><p>“Wooyoung and I were texting,” San says, so casually that even Wooyoung almost believes him. “He mentioned the name of the gallery you were visiting, and I happened to be in the area, so I figured I’d come say hi, if only for a few minutes. Are you all right?”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.” Seonghwa frowns, still looking a bit confused, but less suspicious. “Wooyoung, did you just—how’d we move so fast? I could’ve sworn—” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Wooyoung says, his heart stuttering. “I didn’t think I’d get to you in time, but I must have just… had enough momentum, when I hit you?”</p><p>“God, I’m glad you did, that was…” Seonghwa shakes his head. “Too close.” He meets Wooyoung’s eyes, and his gaze is so earnest that Wooyoung wants to shrink away from it. “Thank you, Young-ah. You could’ve—” He breaks off, shaking his head again. “Thank you. Holy shit. Sorry, I’m just a little—we should probably rejoin our group, I think I can feel Hongjoong fretting from here.”</p><p>Wooyoung feels a sudden shot of panic in his chest at the thought of leaving San again. His hand shoots out and finds San’s sleeve, fingers hooking into the thick fabric of his coat.</p><p>“Hyung, I think—I think I might actually pass on coffee, if that’s okay,” he says. He feels San’s arm shift, dislodging Wooyoung’s grip, and then cool fingers link with his, squeezing tightly. “I feel a little shaky now even without the caffeine,” Wooyoung continues, trying to be light-hearted even as he clings to San’s hand. “But do you want us to walk you over there?”</p><p>“No, I—” Seonghwa breaks off, glancing down at his phone. “It looks like Hongjoong and Mingi are coming back this way, anyway, so it’ll be fine. You two go on ahead, if you need to. We’ll catch up later, okay?”</p><p>“Okay.” Wooyoung pauses, his heart clenching as he looks at Seonghwa, the scuffs on his coat, the small scrapes and grit on his hands. For a moment, Wooyoung’s mind replays what might have happened if San hadn’t gotten there in time, or if Wooyoung hadn’t noticed the danger, if Seonghwa had been alone and defenseless and— </p><p>Wooyoung drops San’s hand and steps forward, pulling Seonghwa into a fierce hug. Seonghwa makes a small surprised sound, but he hugs back readily enough, one hand patting the back of Wooyoung’s head.</p><p>“I’m fine, Young-ah,” Seonghwa says, quietly. “Thanks to you.” </p><p>Wooyoung nods, his jaw clenched tight. He squeezes Seonghwa one more time, swallows through the sudden thickness in his throat, and then steps back, letting Seonghwa go. “Sorry to duck out like this, I’m just—”</p><p>“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa says, always so kind. “It’s fine. We’ll catch up later.”</p><p>Wooyoung nods, pressing his lips together and blinking away the sudden prickle of impending tears. “Bye, hyung.”</p><p>Wooyoung takes San’s hand again as soon as he turns away, steering the seraph away from where Seonghwa stands waiting for Hongjoong and Mingi. Wooyoung can feel his breaths growing shorter, sharper, quicker, and he knows that the delayed panic isn’t far behind.</p><p>“You can stay, if you like,” San says, even as he lets Wooyoung lead him away. “You don’t have to—” </p><p>“That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” Wooyoung says.</p><p>San says nothing, and that’s all the answer Wooyoung needs. Wooyoung lets out a huffed breath, irritation simmering somewhere beneath the oncoming panic.</p><p>“Someone is still trying to kill me,” he says. “Trying to even the scales, to ‘make things right.’” He spits the phrase out bitterly, his stomach roiling. “And they could’ve killed Seonghwa-hyung in the process. That was a trap, wasn’t it? To get me to run into the road? God, what if I hadn’t tried to save him? What if you hadn’t gotten there in time? What if I just had to watch my best friend get hit by a fucking <em>Jeep</em>, all because <em>I</em> should be dead already, and the heavens are trying to—”</p><p>San stops walking, dragging Wooyoung to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. Wooyoung glances back at him, startled, and his heart sinks when he sees the expression on San’s face.</p><p>“Oh,” Wooyoung breathes, “no, I didn’t mean—”</p><p>“It’s all right,” San says, and there’s so little emotion in his voice, it makes Wooyoung’s blood run cold. “I understand. I did this. I’ll handle it.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s breath catches, his heart twisting. “Wait, you’ll—what do you mean, you’ll ‘handle it’?” he says. “No, you can’t just—they’re trying to kill you too, San-ah, what’re you gonna—”</p><p>“I’ll handle it,” San says again, his voice sharp, but his hand is still soft in Wooyoung’s, and he starts walking again, tugging Wooyoung gently into motion.</p><p>Wooyoung stays quiet as they walk back to his apartment, hazarding sidelong glances at San. San looks calm enough, but he also won’t meet Wooyoung’s gaze, silvery eyes staring straight ahead, gleaming and cool. Nerves bubble in Wooyoung’s gut, and by the time they reach Wooyoung’s block, Wooyoung can no longer keep silent.</p><p>“What are you planning to do?” he asks as they approach his building.</p><p>San holds the building door open for Wooyoung. “Nothing you need to worry about.”</p><p>“Bullshit.” Wooyoung scowls as they enter the building and head for the stairs, starting the climb to Wooyoung’s floor. “Of course I’m gonna worry about it. You’re planning to face down the people who want to kill you, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Yes,” San says quietly. “I have to.”</p><p>“No, you don’t,” Wooyoung snaps. “You can let Yunho deal with them, while you stay safe and hidden here with me. I thought that was the plan.”</p><p>San doesn’t respond, his lips pressed together tightly, and Wooyoung glares at him over his shoulder as he finishes climbing the stairs, heading for his apartment. They remain quiet as Wooyoung unlocks the door and lets them inside, the door closing behind them, just loud enough to be considered a slam.</p><p>The apartment is silent and still, gloomy with late afternoon shadows. San takes a few steps into the room and stops, keeping his back to Wooyoung.</p><p>“San-ah,” Wooyoung says, standing near the door. “What almost happened today… that wasn’t your fault, okay? Just like that demon attacking me earlier this week wasn’t your fault. Everything that’s happened since you first saved my life is just… it’s not on you. It can’t be. You didn’t send that demon, you didn’t send that Jeep. You’ve done nothing but protect me since you got here, so please don’t—” Wooyoung’s voice breaks; he clenches his hands into fists at his sides. “Don’t think that you need to endanger yourself for my sake.”</p><p>“It’s not fair to you.” San’s voice is soft, achingly so. “I’m the entire reason you’re being targeted, Wooyoung-ah. I am by no means blameless here.”</p><p>“You’re the only reason I’m here at all!” Wooyoung says. “If it weren’t for you, I’d already be dead, so I don’t get why—”</p><p>“I didn’t give you a choice.” San finally turns to face Wooyoung, his silvery eyes gleaming in the shadows. “I made a decision that changed the course of your entire life, and now you’re being punished for it. That’s not fair. And that is my fault.”</p><p>“Okay, let’s say you gave me a choice, then,” Wooyoung says. “Do you honestly think I would have chosen to <em>die?</em> San-ah, if you had asked me a month ago, before I got on that goddamn bus, ‘hey, would you rather die today, or live longer but need an angel to rescue you every few days or so,’ do you honestly think I would’ve chosen death over <em>you?</em>”</p><p>“That’s not the point, Wooyoung,” San says, voice tight. “You’ve almost died again twice in the last <em>week</em>. If I’d been a second slower, if I had been even momentarily distracted, I would’ve lost you for good, no matter what other rules I tried to break. And Seonghwa would have died, too. It doesn’t matter if you would’ve chosen to live. As long as they are targeting you, you’ll never be safe. You can’t live like that, Young-ah, no matter how much faith you might have in me to protect you. Something needs to be done. And I will see to it.”</p><p>“But why does it have to be you?” Wooyoung says. He steps forward, his heart in his throat. “If you go to them, if they get their hands on you, then I—I might never see you again.” Wooyoung takes in a tremulous breath. “Can’t you just—can’t you wait? Or at least not go alone, maybe go with Yunho, or—?”</p><p>“Wooyoung.” Gentle hands curls around Wooyoung’s wrists, tugging him forward, into San’s space. “I swore to protect you. This is the only way to ensure that you’re safe. I should be able to make a deal with them. Like I said, there’s precedence for this. Human lives have been saved before. If I can just talk to the angels I know, if I can explain to them that your life will cause no harm, then I can fix this. And you can live.” San leans forward, and Wooyoung hears the gentle rustle of giant wings spreading and then settling, curling over San’s shoulders, dark and elegant, and Wooyoung <em>hates</em> them, because he knows that San is preparing to leave. “Please,” San says, barely more than a whisper. “Please let me fix this. Please let me protect you.”</p><p>Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to keep arguing, wants to force San to stay, to be safe and hidden and <em>here</em>, but he can’t help but see the logic in San’s argument, as much as he loathes it. Until the heavens are appeased, Wooyoung’s life will be in constant danger, as will San’s life, and, apparently, the lives of Wooyoung’s friends and loved ones, and Wooyoung is much less willing to risk them. San is powerful, but it’s dangerous to assume that he can be there for every attack, so the only way for Wooyoung to be safe—the only way for them <em>all</em> to be safe—is for San to somehow negotiate with the ones who want Wooyoung dead. </p><p>And that means San needs to come out of hiding.</p><p>“You really think you can convince them to make a deal?” Wooyoung whispers.</p><p>“If I can speak to the ones I know on the council before they take action, then… yes,” San says. “I know them to be fair.”</p><p>“Can you at least not go alone?” Wooyoung says. “Can you get Yunho to go with you, or—?”</p><p>“I will try to contact either him or Jongho before I face anyone alone,” San says. “I promise.” </p><p>Wooyoung lets out a long, tremulous breath, his heart in his throat. He hates this, with every fiber of his being. He hates that San is leaving, hates that he’s helpless to stop him, hates that he sees the reason in it.</p><p>He hates that he needs to let him go.</p><p>“Okay,” Wooyoung breathes, and it’s the hardest word he’s ever had to say.</p><p>San cups Wooyoung’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. Wooyoung inhales shakily, his eyes fluttering shut, his hands coming up to hook gently around San’s wrists. He hears the soft whisper of feathers all around him, feels them brush his arms, his cheeks, his hair, as San envelops them both in his great wings. It should feel claustrophobic, being surrounded on all sides by rustling feathers, but instead Wooyoung only feels warm, held.</p><p>Safe.</p><p>His heart twists.</p><p>“I will do everything in my power to return to you,” San says, hushed. “But if something should happen to me—”</p><p>“Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” Wooyoung says, his voice thick with choked back tears. His fingers tighten around San’s wrists. “I have to believe that, since I’m letting you go. Okay? You’re strong. You’ll be fine. You’ll make a deal, and you’ll come back.”</p><p>San is quiet for a moment. Wooyoung feels warm breath against his cheek, an inaudible sigh, and then the terribly gentle brush of lips against his forehead. </p><p>“If something should happen to me,” San says again, his voice soft against Wooyoung’s skin, “I want you to call for Yunho. He’ll keep an eye on you if I—until I can again.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s throat feels thick. His eyes sting, and he squeezes them shut, forcing back any embarrassing tears.</p><p>“I hate this,” he says. “Please stop talking like you’re not coming back.” He opens his eyes, pulls back slightly so he can see San’s face, meet his somber, silvery eyes. San’s lips are pressed thin, and Wooyoung automatically reaches out to touch his hand to San’s cheek, tracing his thumb over the corner of San’s mouth, where he longs to see a smile. “You promised,” Wooyoung whispers. “You promised you’d protect me forever.” He lets out a helpless laugh, his own mouth crooking into a tiny smile. “It’s only been a week.” </p><p>San covers Wooyoung’s hand with his own, then turns his head and brushes his lips over Wooyoung’s palm, feather light.</p><p>“Everything in my power,” San says. “I promise.”</p><p>Wooyoung stares at San for a moment, memorizing his face, trying not to think about the possibility that he might never see him again. He slides his hand into San’s hair and tugs him into a kiss, fierce and desperate. San kisses him back with the same passion, and for a moment, Wooyoung just drowns in it, wanting nothing more than <em>this</em>, to keep <em>this</em>, San in his arms and in his heart, warm and strong and safe.</p><p>And then San pulls away, his thumbs stroking Wooyoung’s cheeks.</p><p>“Be safe,” he whispers, and before Wooyoung can even respond, San vanishes in a rustle of wings and shadow, and Wooyoung finds himself alone.</p><p>*</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Sacrifice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wooyoung doesn’t sleep.</p><p>He lies in his bed and stares at the window, watching the play of streetlights on frost-flecked glass. He hugs a pillow to his chest, and when he buries his face into it, he can still smell the familiar scent of embers, of skin that isn’t his, but it’s not the same.</p><p>Wooyoung feels cold in the darkness of his room, and he doesn’t sleep.</p><p>Sunday dawns gray and dreary, and Wooyoung blinks from a hazy-eyed doze when his phone chimes at him, lost somewhere among the blankets. He fumbles for it and squints at the message on the screen; it’s from Seonghwa, a single line of text: <em>good morning~ you doing okay?</em> </p><p>The battery icon is red and angry. Wooyoung forgot to charge it overnight. He lets the phone drop to the bed and closes his eyes.</p><p>He doesn’t sleep.</p><p>By the time he opens his eyes again, his phone is fully dead, and it’s only the knowledge that Seonghwa will worry (<em>next time just answer your phone, Wooyoung</em>) that forces Wooyoung out of bed and over to the charger plugged into the wall. He plugs his phone in and then stares at it in his hand for a moment, bleary-eyed and dull, watching as the screen lights up and reveals another text message, this one from Hongjoong, only a few minutes old: <em>we’re grabbing coffee. you up? i’m bringing you americano and a croissant whether you want it or not</em></p><p>Wooyoung’s heart clenches. He blinks back a sudden heaviness behind his eyes and texts back.</p><p><em>i’m up</em>, he sends. <em>i want a muffin.</em></p><p><em>you’ll get a croissant and you’ll be happy about it</em>, comes Hongjoong’s response.</p><p>And then, mere seconds later, from Seonghwa: <em>what kind of muffin?</em></p><p>Wooyoung finally smiles.</p><p>*</p><p>“Do you want to talk about it?” Hongjoong asks from where he sits sprawled on Wooyoung’s living room floor, his laptop open in front of him and a half-eaten sandwich in one hand.</p><p>Wooyoung pops another bite of blueberry muffin into his mouth.</p><p>“Talk about what?” he says.</p><p>“Whatever has you all…” Hongjoong trails off and gestures at Wooyoung, as though that explains anything. </p><p>“You didn’t sleep, did you?” Seonghwa says. He’s leaning over Wooyoung’s breakfast bar, a pink smoothie held gracefully in one hand, the end of the straw tooth-marked. “Is it because of what happened yesterday?”</p><p>“Oh.” Wooyoung picks at his muffin, frowning. “No? It’s not just that, at least. I just… have a lot on my mind.”</p><p>“Exactly my point,” Hongjoong says. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Wooyoung looks at Hongjoong, meeting earnest eyes beneath a dark beanie, and then at Seonghwa, whose expression is so kind that Wooyoung’s throat goes thick, choked with impending tears.</p><p>“No,” Wooyoung lies, but only because he’s unsure what would even happen if he explained everything to them. Exposing them to potential heavenly wrath for knowing things they shouldn’t know doesn’t seem worth the brief mental respite, so Wooyoung forces a tired smile. “I’ll get over it. Just had a bit of a rough night, that’s all. I’ll sleep tonight, if only from pure exhaustion.”</p><p>Seonghwa looks pained. “That’s not exactly ideal, Young-ah.”</p><p>Wooyoung shrugs. “Life isn’t ideal,” he drawls, and shoves the rest of his muffin into his mouth.</p><p>That’s when the apartment suddenly goes still.</p><p>Wooyoung freezes, his skin prickling. The very air feels muffled, unnaturally quiet. He glances at Seonghwa and almost chokes on muffin when he finds Seonghwa staring straight ahead, smoothie half-lifted to his parted lips, no movement but for the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Wooyoung looks at Hongjoong and finds him similarly frozen, caught mid-action as he reaches for his laptop, his motionless face caught in a thoughtful frown.</p><p>Wooyoung swallows, the muffin almost catching in his throat. His pulse races, terror quick, as he reaches for Seonghwa with shaking fingers. He brushes against Seonghwa’s hand, half-expecting Seonghwa to shatter beneath his touch, but instead he just finds warm skin and delicate bones, motionless beneath Wooyoung’s touch.</p><p>“Hyung?” Wooyoung whispers, but Seonghwa still doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t react.</p><p>Wooyoung lets out a rough breath, already close to tears, his emotions too raw for this today, too sleep deprived and vulnerable after saying goodbye to San, after being left behind, after—</p><p>“Where is San?”</p><p>Wooyoung whirls to find Yunho standing in his living room, no longer dressed in a humanizing sweater and jeans, but draped in elegant clothes that gleam a blinding white, sleek trousers and a long coat, a golden collar at his throat, golden leaves woven into his light hair. Large wings that seem to be made more of pure light than feathers fold against his back, barely missing Hongjoong’s head.</p><p>“What did you do to them?” Wooyoung demands, his voice harsher than expected.</p><p>“They are simply paused,” Yunho says, his bright eyes flicking to Seonghwa. “They’ll be fine. Where is San?” </p><p>“He’s not with you?” Wooyoung says. </p><p>Yunho’s handsome brow creases. “Why would he be with me?” </p><p>Wooyoung’s stomach sinks, and blood rushes in his ears.</p><p>“Because he promised,” he says, faintly. “He said he’d find you before he went to face them, he said—he said he wouldn’t go alone—”</p><p>“‘Face them’?” Yunho sounds startled. “He went to face the council?”</p><p>“But he said he wouldn’t go alone,” Wooyoung insists, his heart rabbit quick in his chest, echoing in his ears, and oh god, <em>has the room always been spinning?</em> “He promised me—he <em>promised</em>—” </p><p>“That asshole, I’ll kill him,” Yunho growls, and then, so loud that Wooyoung jumps, “<em>JONGHO!</em>” </p><p>The room seems to contract for a moment, pressurizing like an airplane cabin, and just as Wooyoung’s ears start to ring, the pressure eases, and another man appears in his living room, golden wings flaring, dark hair and wide shoulders and severe, dark eyes.</p><p>“He did something stupid, didn’t he?” says the new angel, his golden wings folded behind him, feathers brushing the ceiling and the floor.</p><p>“He’s going to the council,” Yunho says. “Alone. Can you find him? Or at least let Yeosang know that he’s coming?”</p><p>“On it,” the new angel—Jongho?—says, and then his wings spread, a gust of wind nearly knocks Wooyoung off his feet, and he vanishes.</p><p>“Stay here,” Yunho says to Wooyoung, his golden gaze fierce. “We’ll find him.”</p><p>“Wait!” Wooyoung takes a stumbling step forward, hand outstretched, his heart racing, because it’s suddenly very important that Yunho not leave yet, not when Wooyoung just realized that San went to face his fate alone— </p><p>“What?” Yunho says, clearly impatient.</p><p>Wooyoung swallows hard, feeling dizzy. He wishes he had a night’s sleep under his belt to make this decision, but it’s too late to go back now.</p><p>“Take me with you,” he says.</p><p>Yunho goes still, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”</p><p>“I want to help,” Wooyoung says. “If I could talk to this council of yours, maybe I could convince them that I’m not gonna change the world somehow by staying alive for a few more years, so there’s no reason for them to punish San.”</p><p>Yunho watches him for a moment of terrible, weighty silence. Wooyoung wants to squirm beneath those uncanny eyes, but instead he holds firm, clenching his hands into fists to hide their trembling. </p><p>“Jung Wooyoung,” Yunho says. “Who do you think yesterday’s trap was for?”</p><p>Wooyoung blinks, his heart tripping. “What?” </p><p>“Do you truly think that the heavens would create such an elaborate scheme just to kill a mortal?” Yunho says. “Endanger your friend to tempt you into the street, to die struck by a speeding car?” </p><p>“Would—would they not?” Wooyoung says, his voice small.</p><p>Yunho closes his eyes, and for the briefest moment, he looks almost mortal—weary and sad.</p><p>“As long as San was watching out for you, the heavens could not kill you,” Yunho says. “San would foil any attempt on your life. It was not worth their time. That trap was not meant to kill you, Jung Wooyoung. It was meant to draw San out of hiding. And it worked.”</p><p>Wooyoung cannot breathe. The cold jolt of realization punches the air from his lungs, the warmth from his veins. He opens his mouth, perhaps to speak, perhaps to scream, but all that comes forth is a small, choked, “No.”</p><p>“They got what they wanted from you.” Yunho sounds sympathetic, almost pitying. “And what they wanted was San.”</p><p>“No,” Wooyoung says again, louder this time, past the dizzying rush of panic swirling in his chest. “No, no, no, wait, but I didn’t—I didn’t <em>know</em>, if I’d known, I could’ve stopped him from going, but I didn’t—I didn’t think they’d—I didn’t <em>know</em>—”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Yunho says. “We just need to find him. So you need to stay here.”</p><p>Wooyoung is halfway through a nod, numb and horrified, before he stops, his breath hitching.</p><p>“Wait,” he says, hushed. “Would they consider a deal?”</p><p>Yunho doesn’t speak for another moment, and then he says, quiet, “I think we both know the only kind of deal they might accept in order to waive San’s punishment.”</p><p>“I know,” Wooyoung says, still numb, his entire body trembling, but his mind oddly clear. “But we’re still not even sure that would be necessary, right? San said—” Wooyoung’s voice breaks, after speaking that name, guilt curling low in his gut. He shoves it down. “San said that there are fair members of the council.” He meets Yunho’s eyes, forcing determination into his own gaze. “It doesn’t hurt for me to at least try and save him, right?” </p><p>“You would be willing to risk that much for him?” Yunho says. “Potentially stake the years San stole back for you in order to save his life?”</p><p>“I—I think so?” Wooyoung forces a crooked smile. “Honestly, I don’t know. Right now I’m just kinda panicking and asking for a chance.”</p><p>Yunho stares at him, so intent that Wooyoung feels like he might burn up in those golden eyes, and then he sighs.</p><p>“Fine,” Yunho says. He gestures at Hongjoong and Seonghwa, still frozen in place. “Say your goodbyes. Call for me when you are done, and I will take you to the council.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s heart leaps, part terror, part terrible hope. “Okay,” he says, breathless. “Okay. Thank you.”</p><p>Yunho nods once, and then he vanishes in a flash of golden light and rustling feathers. Wooyoung is left pale and trembling in his kitchen, startled by the normal, everyday sounds of Hongjoong typing on his laptop and Seonghwa taking a sip of his smoothie.</p><p>“Hey, so, uh. I just remembered,” Wooyoung says, trying to sound normal. It almost works. “I told my mom I’d stop by for dinner today, so I should probably start getting ready. Sorry.”</p><p>“Oh.” Seonghwa blinks, wonderfully normal and apparently not the least bit harmed by however many minutes he spent suspended in time. “Okay, no worries. We should probably get going, anyway, otherwise Hongjoong will never finish his essay.”</p><p>“You don’t know that,” Hongjoong calls from the living room, through a mouthful of sandwich and the frantic clacking of laptop keys.</p><p>Seonghwa rolls his eyes with a smile and pushes away from the bar.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re going to see your family,” he says to Wooyoung. “Maybe it’ll help take your mind off of whatever’s stressing you out, if only for a few hours.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s stomach twists. He hopes his smile doesn’t waver too much, hopes Seonghwa doesn’t point out the tears just starting to prickle in Wooyoung’s eyes. </p><p>“Thanks, hyung,” Wooyoung says, a bit choked, and steps forward to hug Seonghwa tightly, burying his face into Seonghwa’s shoulder. He inhales, breathing in the familiar scent of him, cologne and clean clothes and everything that Wooyoung treasures about his best friend. Seonghwa hugs him back just as tightly, not questioning the fierceness of the hug, and Wooyoung loves him for that, among so many other things.</p><p>Hongjoong gets a hug next, and Wooyoung can’t help but laugh at the way Hongjoong pats Wooyoung’s back like he’s unsure how human contact actually works, because it’s such a very <em>Hongjoong</em> reaction, and Wooyoung wants to keep it forever.</p><p>“Bye, I love you!” Wooyoung calls after them as they leave, pitching his voice high and chipper, like he normally would, but the words hold more weight now, as he watches their backs recede and remembers the archangel awaiting him.</p><p>Wooyoung closes the door to his apartment and stands for a moment in the silence. He stares down at his socked feet, his pale hands.</p><p>
  <em>I will do everything in my power to return to you.</em>
</p><p>“Not if I go to you first,” Wooyoung mutters, and he turns away from the door, off to get changed into what might be his last outfit on earth.</p><p>Better a familiar sweatshirt and jeans than sweatpants, he supposes.</p><p>At least the sweatshirt still smells like San.</p><p>*</p><p>Traveling by archangel isn’t quite as magical as Wooyoung assumed it would be. Instead of rushing feathers and wind in his hair and swooping sensations in his stomach, Wooyoung ends up with mild motion sickness and absolutely no memory of how they got from his apartment to… wherever they are now.</p><p>“Don’t wander,” Yunho says, his voice pitched low. He has a large hand splayed on Wooyoung’s back, and Wooyoung knows that he’s doing something to disguise him, as they agreed upon just before they left. Mortals aren’t generally allowed in heavenly spaces, so Wooyoung is, once again, a walking broken rule, but Yunho can at least hide his mortality while he’s here.</p><p>“Where are we?” Wooyoung whispers, his eyes wide as he takes in what looks like a sprawling lobby, decorated in delicate veined marble and intricate gold detailing, with a vast ceiling supported by soaring pillars and arched doorways large enough to admit beings at least four times Wooyoung’s size. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and distinctly otherworldly, and Wooyoung knows that he is nowhere near home anymore.</p><p>“The Council,” Yunho says, and the way he says it lends Wooyoung to believe that it is, indeed, the capital ‘C’ version of what the angels have mentioned over the past few days. “If San wanted an audience, he’d come here first.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s heart skips. “You think he’s here?” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Yunho says, and then he tenses, hooking his fingers into the back of Wooyoung’s sweatshirt and tugging him behind him. Wooyoung peers around Yunho’s taller frame to see an unfamiliar angel approaching them, with gleaming, pearlescent wings tucked neatly against his back. His hair is black, and his face is beautiful in a way that strikes Wooyoung breathless, perfect skin and ghostly pale eyes. </p><p>“No, I haven’t seen him yet,” the unfamiliar angel says before Yunho can even speak. His voice is deeper than Wooyoung expected; it rumbles in Wooyoung’s chest. Those pale eyes turn on Wooyoung, and fear creeps like ice down Wooyoung’s spine. “You are Wooyoung.”</p><p>“Uh.” Wooyoung glances at Yunho. “Who?” </p><p>“You do not need to be coy,” the unfamiliar angel says. “That was not a question. Yunho’s disguises are good, but I suspected you might be here.” The angel turns back to Yunho. “Is this wise?”</p><p>“Probably not,” Yunho says. “But if he can somehow convince them to reconsider, then maybe…”</p><p>“You still think San can be saved.”</p><p>Yunho flinches, the motion so small that Wooyoung would never have noticed if Yunho didn’t still have a grip on his sweatshirt.</p><p>“Yeosang,” Yunho says, almost chiding, and the unfamiliar angel, Yeosang, closes his eyes.</p><p>“I know,” he says. “Hope.” He opens his eyes again; his expression barely shifts. “I can manage hope, I think.” </p><p>“We have to at least try,” Yunho says. He sounds almost young, more vulnerable than Wooyoung ever thought a powerful archangel could be. “It’s for San.”</p><p>And it’s only then, with those three small, helpless words, that Wooyoung realizes how afraid Yunho is. Wooyoung remembers a conversation he had with San a mere week earlier, feeling like a lifetime ago: <em>I had… friends.</em></p><p>Wooyoung realizes now that he is in the presence of those friends. </p><p>And he realizes that the past tense San used was not entirely accurate.</p><p>Yeosang stills, his head tilting and pale eyes going vague, as though he’s listening for some faint, distant sound.</p><p>“Jongho found him,” he says. “They’re outnumbered. Don’t bring the human.” And then his wings spread, huge and elegant and glistening, and he vanishes.</p><p>“Like hell,” Yunho mutters. The fingers hooked into Wooyoung’s sweatshirt tighten. “Hold on, and keep quiet.”</p><p>Wooyoung barely has time to inhale before he finds himself whisked off again, and by the time he blinks, he is in a long, dark hallway, stone instead of marble, with closed doors lining the walls and wrought iron sconces that flicker with firelight. Wooyoung can hear the sounds of a struggle echoing off the walls, and as his vision clears, he finds a mass of wings nearby, amongst them the familiar pearlescent wings belonging to Yeosang, the golden wings of Jongho, and beside them, black and gleaming and beautiful, is— </p><p>“San-ah,” Wooyoung breathes, barely audible, his heart in his throat, and then a big hand shoves him against a nearby wall and settles on his head, and <em>cold</em> trickles over his skin, sudden and shocking, and he finds himself frozen in place, invisible, unable to speak or move.</p><p>“Stay put,” Yunho murmurs, and then he strides towards the fray, big white wings mantling.</p><p>Wooyoung can just barely move his eyes enough to watch the conflict. He can see San, clad in dark clothing, shadows twining over his bare forearms and neck, and oh, how Wooyoung’s heart aches for him to be so close and yet so untouchable. There is blood on San’s cheek, and Wooyoung’s throat clenches; is he injured? Jongho stands in front of San, placing himself between San and their attackers, uniformed angels with gleaming blades that flicker with flames. One of Jongho’s golden wings is fully spread between San and the uniformed angels, and he keeps one hand behind him, placed protectively on San’s waist.</p><p>“—take him alive?” Yeosang is speaking now, his deep voice authoritative, ringing off the stone. Wooyoung catches the way the uniformed angels hesitate, wings twitching and fiery blades dipping. </p><p>“We were, but he decided to resist,” says one of the uniformed angels.</p><p>“No, <em>I</em> decided to resist,” Jongho snaps, shoving San further back and away from the uniformed angels. “And you still can’t have him until you lower your fucking swords.”</p><p>“Sir, you can’t just—”</p><p>“I am seraphim,” Jongho says, and his very skin seems to glow as he says it, his eyes flashing. Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as his stomach swoops. “I can, at the very least, order you to <em>lower. Your fucking. Swords.</em>”</p><p>“Do as he says,” Yunho says, and his voice cracks through the hallway, startling both the uniformed angels and Wooyoung, whose very insides tremble at the power in Yunho’s voice. Wooyoung knows that he can’t look at Yunho right now, suspects he also shouldn’t look at Jongho, so he turns his gaze to San, who is watching the uniformed angels warily, his chest heaving, blood still dripping from a wound on his cheek. Wooyoung wants nothing more than to swipe the blood from his skin, to pull him into a hug and steal him away and never let go.</p><p>The uniformed angels finally, reluctantly, lower their swords, and some of the dizzying glow surrounding Yunho and Jongho fades, but Jongho doesn’t budge from his protective stance in front of San.</p><p>“Jongho-ya.” San’s voice makes Wooyoung’s entire chest contract, tears pricking in his eyes; it’s only then that he realizes he thought he might never hear it again. San places a hand on Jongho’s shoulder and squeezes. “Let me go.”</p><p>Jongho glances over his shoulder at San, looking pained. “Can’t you just—?”</p><p>“Jongho-ya,” San says, quiet. “Please.”</p><p>Jongho hesitates for another few moments, and then takes a grudging step away from San, his face stormy and stubborn. Wooyoung feels a rush of affection for this angel he barely knows.</p><p>“I’m still going with you,” Jongho says, glaring at the uniformed angels, and San inclines his head; Wooyoung catches the barest glimpse of a smile, which hooks into his heart and <em>tugs</em>. </p><p>“Fine,” San says. He steps forward, head held high as he faces the uniformed angels. “I’m ready to face the council.”</p><p>“And will you all accompany him?” asks the apparently leader of the uniformed angels, sounding weary.</p><p>“Yes,” Yeosang says, stepping up to flank San on one side even as Jongho takes the other. “Lead the way, lieutenant.”</p><p>San is hidden by wings, for a few seconds, and when he is finally revealed again, there are dark irons clamped around his wrists, and he is being led down the hall towards Wooyoung, whose heart starts to race as the angels approach. He knows Yunho said he was invisible, but surely someone will sense him, surely someone will <em>see</em>— </p><p>As though hearing his thoughts, San suddenly jolts, like he just noticed something no one else could catch, and then his silvery eyes turn, unerring, and meet Wooyoung’s.</p><p>Wooyoung chokes on a gasp, still frozen, pinned by that silver stare. San’s face pales, his eyes going wide and horrified.</p><p>“No,” San whispers, so close that Wooyoung hears him. “You can’t be—” He breaks off as the group of angels passes Wooyoung, shooting a panicked glance at Yunho. “You <em>didn’t</em>—”</p><p>“I’ll meet you up there,” Yunho says, stopping beside Wooyoung. He looks guilty as he watches San get marched off, still flanked by Yeosang and Jongho and the entire troop of uniformed angels, and winces when San’s livid voice echoes back to them:</p><p>“<em>YUNHO!</em>”</p><p>Yunho waits until they’re out of sight before he presses a warm hand to Wooyoung’s neck, and the chill dissolves, freeing Wooyoung from the invisibility spell.</p><p>“He saw me,” Wooyoung splutters, shaking his limbs to free them of the strange pins-and-needles after effects of being frozen. “How—how did he see me?”</p><p>“He’s your guardian,” Yunho says quietly. “Of course he saw you.” </p><p>“So what happens now?” Wooyoung asks, his heart pounding. </p><p>“Now he gets to plead his case,” Yunho says. “And either the council lets him off, or it’s over.” Yunho settles a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, curls his fingers into Wooyoung’s sweatshirt again. “Let’s go. If you’re going to try to plead for him, too, then this is your chance. Are you prepared?” </p><p>“No,” Wooyoung says, because lying seems rather useless now, anyway. He feels overwhelmed and tightly wound and terrified all at once, and he has no idea how he’s still managing to keep a relatively clear head, but he’s <em>here</em>. There’s no going back now. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Yunho nods, his jaw tight, and the world falls away again.</p><p>*</p><p>Wooyoung expected a grand courtroom, and instead finds himself in a small, dark chamber lit by golden light with no apparent source. There are windows high on the walls, but Wooyoung cannot see out of them. At the head of the room is a raised platform where the so-called council sit behind an impressive dark wood table, four unfamiliar angels with their wings hidden, each of their eyes gleaming golden in the dim light. San stands before them, flanked by two uniformed angels with flaming swords. His head is bowed, his back to Wooyoung, broad shoulders hunched beneath his folded dark wings.</p><p>Wooyoung stands disguised near the back of the chamber beside Yunho, who watches the proceedings with a frown, his arms crossed over his chest. Yeosang and Jongho stand closer to the council, Yeosang expressionless, Jongho scowling.</p><p>“Choi San.” The angel seated at the center of the raised table speaks, her voice echoing through the chamber, making Wooyoung’s heart thrum. She is small, delicate, her hair falling in white-blond waves over her shoulders. A golden plaque in front of her reads <em>Kim Yongsun</em>. “You were wanted by this council for saving the life of a mortal. You fled our justice, and now you return. Why?”</p><p>“I beg the council to lessen the sentence,” San says, his voice firm, yet respectful. “Mortal lives have been saved before with little consequence, both to the mortals themselves and those who interfered.” San bows, his wings spreading low behind him, apparently a sign of obeisance. “There is no evidence to suggest that the life of Jung Wooyoung cannot be spared, as others have been before him. I beg the council to stop trying to end his life.”</p><p>“Choi San—” Another of the council members speaks up, a dark-haired man with striking features and a whisper-soft voice and a golden plaque that reads <em>Jung Taekwoon</em>.</p><p>“I will accept my punishment, whatever the council decides is reasonable,” San continues, undeterred. “But I ask for mercy on the behalf of Jung Wooyoung. He is only a mortal.” San pauses, and Wooyoung sees his hands curl into fists. “He deserves to live.”</p><p>“San-ah.” The other male council member speaks, sounding almost sympathetic. His name plaque says <em>Lee Gikwang</em>. “Your sentence was changed. You are no longer being punished only for saving the mortal’s life.”</p><p>Wooyoung sees San freeze, clearly caught off guard.</p><p>“I noticed that the force with which I was being pursued was… more extreme than expected,” San says, slowly. “Are you saying that was intentional?” </p><p>“The change was poorly carried out,” says Yongsun, “but yes. This council requires <em>your</em> life, San-ah. Not the mortal’s.”</p><p>Wooyoung’s heart sinks, his blood running cold.</p><p>“What?” he breathes, but Yunho places a quelling hand on his shoulder, his own eyes wide and fixed on the council.</p><p>“Why?” San asks, finally rising from his bow, stiff-backed. “Because I fled?” </p><p>“I think you know why, San-ah,” says Taekwoon, not unkindly.</p><p>“But you tried to kill him,” San says, sounding desperate. “You—you sent the demon, and the accident, and—”</p><p>“And because of that, here you are,” says another of the council members, a striking woman with long dark hair, whose name plate reads <em>Lee Sunmi</em>. “As expected.”</p><p>San’s shoulders slump as the realization hits him, and Wooyoung’s heart breaks.</p><p>“But I just… saved him,” San says, his voice barely audible.</p><p>“You know that’s not your only crime, San-ah,” Gikwang says.</p><p>Yongsun’s voice is calm and clear as she states, simply, “You fell in love.”</p><p>The air around Wooyoung shatters.</p><p>Blood rushes in his ears, and he knows he’s staring, eyes boring into San’s back. His breath comes in shallow gasps, and his heart is lodged in his throat. The council room falls away, and all he can see is San, watching as San’s shoulders hunch, as his wings droop, as he runs pale fingers through his dark hair. Wooyoung can hear San draw in a ragged breath even from across the room, and his chest <em>aches</em>.</p><p>
  <em>You fell in love.</em>
</p><p>Love… San loves him. That’s why San saved his life, all those weeks ago. That’s why San stayed with him. It’s why San vowed to protect him, held him close when he couldn’t sleep, fought off demons for him, <em>kissed him</em>— </p><p>San loves him.</p><p>“It is forbidden for a guardian to love a mortal,” continues the archangel named Sunmi, her voice dim in Wooyoung’s hazy mind. “You know this. And yet you transgressed.”</p><p>“That kind of love makes you vulnerable,” says Taekwoon. “And dangerous. We have these rules for a reason.”</p><p>“I know,” San whispers, broken, and Wooyoung chokes back a sob, because San already seems—he seems <em>resigned</em>— </p><p>“The mortal can live,” Yongsun says. “We have confirmed that his life will not cause issue in the grand scheme of things. But San-ah… we cannot waive your punishment.”</p><p>“No,” Wooyoung whispers, even as San bows his head, his shoulders shaking, even as Yunho takes an aborted step forward, even as Jongho’s wings spread, only to be held at bay by a grim-faced Yeosang. </p><p>“No,” Wooyoung says again, a bit louder, as the council members continue to speak about sentencing and the guards beside San draw their fiery blades, the flames close enough to lick at San’s skin.</p><p>“No,” Wooyoung says again, as he shoves forward, slipping from Yunho’s desperate grasp, all eyes in the room now on him, no longer disguised, the lone human in a room full of immortals.</p><p>“No,” Wooyoung says, as he comes level with San and his guards, facing the wide-eyed council members, his pulse racing, his palms and back sweaty, and isn’t that an odd bodily detail to note when his entire world is crashing down around him?</p><p>“Wooyoung-ah,” San says, helpless, and Wooyoung finally looks at him again, meets his beautiful silver eyes. “Go back. <em>Please</em>.”</p><p>“No,” Wooyoung says, again, almost yelling this time, and turns to face the council. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees San try to jerk out of his captors’ grip, but he’s held fast, those flaming swords poised dangerously close to his throat, and Wooyoung’s stomach twists, because if he doesn’t think fast, if this doesn’t work, then those fiery swords will carve into precious flesh and draw precious blood and San will be—San will— </p><p>“If I die, like I was supposed to,” Wooyoung says, every inch of him trembling under the stare of eons’ old archangels and the angel who loves him, oh god, San <em>loves him</em>, “then San will have no way to endanger himself or others with his love for me, and he could continue to live. Correct?” </p><p>“Young-ah, <em>no</em>—” San breaks off with a choked sound, and Wooyoung’s breath shudders, but he doesn’t turn to look, because he cannot waver. He meets the gaze of the lead council member, Yongsun, who watches him curiously, her chin balanced on steepled fingers.</p><p>“An interesting hypothesis,” she says.</p><p>“Child.” The archangel named Gikwang leans over the table, peering down at Wooyoung with such intensity that Wooyoung feels his knees start to wobble. “You would give up your own life to save that of your guardian?” </p><p>“Yes,” Wooyoung says, and he hears a scuffle beside him, but again, he refuses to look. He can’t bear to think any further than the simple goal of not letting San die. If he thinks too hard, he will quail, and he will lose San forever, but at the same time, if this works—if this <em>works</em>— “My death is already overdue, anyway,” Wooyoung says, his voice cracking a bit on the last syllable. “And San—San is immortal. He has centuries ahead of him, right? It seems only fair. I’m not supposed to be alive, and he’s supposed to live forever.”</p><p>“<em>Young-ah</em>—” San’s voice is choked, broken, and Wooyoung’s entire being trembles. He curls his hands into fists, nails biting painfully deep into his palms, and presses his lips together, blinking back the threat of tears.</p><p>“It’s okay, San-ah,” he says, quietly. “It’ll be fine.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>, please—” San wails, even as the council members look between each other, apparently deliberating. “<em>Please </em>don’t—don’t agree to this, you can’t—Young-ah, <em>please—</em>”</p><p>“The terms are fair,” Yongsun says, and Wooyoung’s breath leaves him in a gust, because <em>oh.</em> Oh. He did it, he won, he—he saved San’s life, San will live, and he—and he— “The mortal’s sacrifice in exchange for a non-lethal punishment,” Yongsun continues, and then suddenly she’s standing right in front of Wooyoung. She only comes up to Wooyoung’s collarbones, but he has to fight not to stumble back from her sheer presence, her uncanny golden eyes, her serene immortal face. She glances once, briefly, past Wooyoung’s shoulder at San, who is still pleading, voice shattered and desperate, and then fixes Wooyoung with a deep, eternal stare.</p><p>“You have made a brave choice, Jung Wooyoung,” she says, and then she lifts her hands to his face, and the room shifts.</p><p><em>Ah, </em>Wooyoung thinks, as the world darkens and a beloved voice screams his name.<em> So this is what it would’ve been like.</em></p><p>Death feels just like falling.</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kudos and comments are appreciated! ♡</p><p>come find me on twit, if you like~</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/aintitnifty">main account</a> | <a href="https://twitter.com/magnificentbirb">writing account</a></p><p>also <a href="https://twitter.com/hizuillu">hizu</a> drew me an <a href="https://twitter.com/hizuillu/status/1292509453460344834">ABSOLUTELY STUNNING demon!san</a>, please send so much love, i am utterly obsessed.</p><p>ALSO ALSO crescentblue on tumblr <a href="https://crescentblue.tumblr.com/post/627151936688455680/the-description-for-magnificentbirbs-demon-san-in">drew demon!san</a> as well and i am SO INCREDIBLY TOUCHED, he is beautiful, THANK YOU, please give all the love.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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